The Best Sandwich Ever

“DAD! DAD! OREO’S WAITING OUTSIDE! SHE WANTS TO COME IN REAL BAD! PLEASE, DAD! PLEASE!!!!”

The pathetic mess of a wet and old, cold stray yellow cat on our porch was clearly seeking more than a mere dry breakfast that freezing Tuesday morning. He was also hoping for a warm bed. But Crackers would have destroyed him.

“Sorry, son. No. He can’t come in.”

“You have no feelings, Dad.”

Halfway through my shift in the school office, I was discussing the cold with a gentlemen from the staff across the hall while he waited for the coffee to percolate. Turns out he was half-Australian, half-Dutch. No accent.

“Yeah, my dad came over from Holland after the Nazis destroyed his town. Australia was promising five acres of land if they immigrated. You know, five acres was unthinkable.”

Five acres would be unthinkable now.

In the afternoon, for two hours I re-arranged women’s spring tops according to the color wheel. It’s amazing how quickly times passes when you’re doing something that’s not considered fun, but still has to be done.

“Could I have a sample, Mom?” Puck pointed to the tray of tiny Trader Joe’s sandwiches waiting for consumption.

“Go on.”

Puck chomped in. “Wow. Wow! Mom! This is the most amazing sandwich I’ve ever tasted! Wow! Mom, you’ve got to try this!”

We made our way to the check-out. Puck was still in raptures.

“Well, bud, I guess we could get the recipe…”

I turned around, and he was gone, walking down the wine aisle back to the sandwich corner.

“Where are you going, bud?”

“I’m goin’ to get that recipe!”

I accompanied him. Two minutes later we walked back to the check-out, Puck with an armload of sourdough bread, a variety of cheeses, and corned beef. We’d be having “Irish Grilled Cheese” for dinner.

“Good stuff,” the checker told us.

“Yeah!” Puck replied with gusto. “This is the best sandwich ever! We’re having this for dinner!”

And so we did.