Late Night Snack

So late last night/early this morning, I experienced my usual craving for a snack. I decided to make a sandwich. My mom had turkey, but I didn't feel like warming it up.

**An aside, my grandmother used to tell us if we ate cold lunch meat, we'd get worms. So we had to warm everything in a skillet (hot dogs had to be washed and boiled) before ingesting it. Later on, I would eat cold ham, justifying my choice by saying, "Duh, elle, it's a cold cut." Then I realized, I don't like cold meat (the people who eat cold fried chicken on picnics really intrigue me). Just last week, my grandmother's claim was given some credence (sort of) by my sister's OB/Gyn who told my sis to avoid cold cuts because of bacterial issues.**

Back to the story already in progress. I pulled out two slices of bread. I was absolutely delighted by how soft they were (that's something else I don't like-hard bread!!! Not even bread that's supposed to be hard). I grabbed a jar of peanut butter and spread a thin layer on one slice of bread. Then, I opened the refrigerator, already anticipating the sweet contrast of that cold grape jelly and...

we were out. Which is when it dawned on me that my last night time snack, a delightful eggs-bacon-and-toast sandwich, had required the use of the last of the grape jelly.

I should note that my son is the only person in this family who eats peanut butter solo. It's too thick and plain for that! But what could I do? Cause, according to my grandmother, even worse than eating cold cold cuts, is wasting food. So I tried to find a jelly-substitute.

I thought briefly of syrup--my cousin used to fix us syrup and peanut butter sandwiches when we were little. Then I remembered all his baby teeth rotted out so I nixed that idea. My search revealed a can of whipped cream, some chocolate syrup and a pack of apple jelly left over from one of my father's sausage biscuit breakfasts. No, no, and no. My gaze alighted briefly on some jars of honey and I pondered that, but it just didn't sound appealing.

So plain peanut butter it would be. I had some misgivings, a sense of something's-not-quite-right, but I was hungry. Dejected, I placed the un-jellied slice of bread back in the bag, decided to make a little fold-over, and ate it.

The reasons for my misgivings were soon clear. Somewhere on it's leisurely journey down the esophageal path, that damned sandwich got stuck. Right in the middle of my chest. And no amount of drinking or moving would dislodge it. So, not only was I unsatisfied, I was in pain.

I took some acid reflux medicine and eventually the knot moved.

But I am even more convinced that peanut butter is not meant to stand alone.