Let’s just say you woke up a little early today to make yourself some lunch to take to work, as you knew you’d be extra busy during your usual lunch hour(s). And you create a sandwich masterpiece, with your own specs: toasted bread, lettuce on both sides, hummus between the lettuce and the turkey, so it doesn’t get too soggy. And Baby Girl sees this little act of domesticity, and of course sniffs out the food, so she wants to “help.” “I wanna put the cheese on it!” type of thing. So despite the fact that your ass, as usual, is running late, and you really don’t like other people touching your food (SOMETHING has to be fondled by your hands alone), you let Baby Girl help out. And then she says, “You will share it with me, mommy.” Ugh. Naw, girl, this is mine-all-mine, and we gotta get on the road. So when you turn around to put the condiments in the refrigerator, she announces, “I licked it!” WHAAAAA??? Licked what? My lunchus magnum opus???
Hence, decision time. Would you:
A) Throw that thing out, yuk! Grab a yogurt and a granola bar and sulk all day.
B) Feverishly wipe the exposed areas with a paper towel and eat it anyway
C) Spray it down with Lysol and eat it anyway
D) Spray her mouth with Lysol and eat it anyway.
Dang. I love my kids dearly, but the littlest ones are Germ Industrial Units and Sharing Ain’t Always Caring in my house. I don’t drink after them, I don’t eat their leftovers, and I don’t kiss them on the mouth. Sorry, they can report that to their therapist, along with the other multitude of wrongs they have suffered at my hands.
But it really was a good-looking sandwich.
NB—I have been MIA lately. Plenty of excuses, none of them good. I have a HIGH-larious post brewing in my tiny squirrel brain, but this should keep you mildly entertained til then.
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