Here's a photograph of a sandwich I ate at work yesterday. I shared it with the caption "Laverne made my sandwich today."
As in, Laverne and Shirley (fogey alert). Fun comments ensued, including this one from my Pop: "Why didn't you make your sandwich?"
I guess I could have hopped over the counter and put together my own delicious creation, but the girls at the deli tend to take issue with ungloved hands rooting around in the food containers.
It’s not that I don’t want to make my sandwich, in the comfortable confines of my own kitchen. I don’t want to make the time.
Here’s what my day usually looks like:
Wake up, then get up – both don’t often happen at the same time, and that's on good days when I actually feel like dragging my ass out of bed by 6:30.
Pee, drink a glass of water, then weave my way through cat traffic to find collagen and glucosamine pills (because, fogey, and collagen has to be taken on empty stomach).
Make tea, feed cats, refill water bowls, say hello to Henry (parrot), let him out if he’s awake & wants to come out. Check his food & water.
Eat breakfast, figure out what I’m going to wear, drink the tea I made a half hour ago, share breakfast with Henry (because, flock behavior), spend as much time with Henry before I have to start mobilizing toward the shower or getting dressed (because, cranky bird needs love).
Get ready (shower, dress), check GPS bus tracker, drink more of the tea that is now stone cold.
Give Nikita her pill, wash cat mouth off my fingers, check GPS bus tracker, put on coat, grab bag & keys, head to the bus stop.
Run from meeting to meeting while carefully planning pee and rehydration breaks, which if not well-planned often involve waiting for a stall during toilet rush hours (lunch time) or waiting for the water spigot in the charming galley kitchen, which would work well as a prison cell except for the absence of a toilet and the fact that at lunch time the walls bulge to accommodate the crush of people fighting for access to the microwaves and fridge. I could maybe try to make a sandwich in there, but see above re. prison cell. I suppose I could make sandwiches at my desk. Maybe bring enough for several sandwiches and make a little cash on the side.
Get home, pee, drink a glass of water, let Henry out, then weave my way through cat traffic to figure out what to make for dinner, then start dinner (because, non-cooking husband).
Feed cats while dinner cooks, eat dinner, share dinner with Henry (because, flock behavior), take vitamins & supplements (because, aging), clean up the kitchen (because, non-cleaning husband).
Reacquaint myself with my couch, watch a little teevee, check email, goof off online, watch kitten parkour, give Nikita her antibiotic, maybe shower if not too tired.
Figure out what’s on deck for the morning, scoop cat boxes, finish tidying up kitchen if needed, get organized for the next day, floss, brush teeth, wash face, go to bed.
Same as above, along with clean the house (whatever I can manage), clean the bird cage, run errands, do laundry, more dishes, and more cooking, as well as take care of whatever I couldn’t get to during the week.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
So sure, I could make my own sandwich, but that requires buying all the stuff I like to put in a sandwich, like really good bread, fresh lettuce, cucumbers, tomatoes, onions, deli meats and avocado, then washing & prepping and storing that produce, physically making the sandwich, then packaging it up for transport so it won’t get smashed in my bag.
As the week goes on, the bread is no longer fresh, the produce starts to wilt, and the meat begins to spoil. Technically, it’s still food, but it’s not nearly as fresh or as high-quality as what I can get downstairs for $5. Might seem like a lot for a sandwich, but it saves me shopping, prep and clean up time, which is already spent keeping food in the house for breakfast and dinner (because, non-cooking, non-cleaning, somewhat non-shopping, non-sandwich-making husband).
Now, it might seem like I’m poking a sharp stick at my husband in all of this, but the point is, when you have a wife who does all these things for you – the shopping (which also includes planning what the hell to shop for), the prep, the cooking, the cleaning, the animal caretaking and general household management, it doesn't leave a lot of time for making a sandwich. How I would love to have all this other stuff done for me so I could make a sandwich. What a sandwich I would make. I’d make so many delicious sandwiches.
There’s only so much time in a day and if I can have a little more time to myself to relax and not be doing something, I’ll take it. Plus, the 10 minutes it takes to go downstairs and visit the deli is a welcome respite from the continuous fire hose of meetings, emails and tasks. Also, my job helps keep other people employed, and I like that.
That’s why I didn’t make my sandwich.