sandwiches raze every day she packed me the same thing for lunch. baloney on white bread. or if it wasn't that, it was peanut butter and jelly on white bread. the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches had margarine on them. i always thought that was gross. and it was redundant. it didn't need to be there. i would work out some backwards way to eat my sandwich. turn it into math without numbers. turn it into a game. try to trick the two pieces of bread and what lived between them into believing they were something else so my tongue might believe it too. it didn't work. when i started sleeping over at my dad's place on tuesdays, he would pack my lunch the next day. he made me sandwiches on all kinds of different bread. not just bread. portuguese rolls. onion buns. there was no baloney. no peanut butter. no jelly. there was ham. there was roast beef. there was turkey. there was cheese. i didn't know you could put cheese on a sandwich. my mother never did that. he would make me little salads in tupperware containers. he would give me a can of pop instead of a juice box. i didn't know lunch was something you were supposed to enjoy. most days i still hated it, but on wednesdays i loved it. my mother would always ask me what my dad made me for lunch. i lied and told her it was the same stuff she gave me. it was easier that way. even if nothing was ever easy. i made my peace with peanut butter and jelly years ago. i still haven't forgiven baloney for what it did to me, even if it was only doing what it was told. 210909 what's it to you? who go blather from