It always shocks me to learn that something I find so utterly inconsequential would be so controversial, so worthy of being yelled at and berated for. Something that when people learn of it, they sputter and shout, get their proverbial panties in a bunch, and tend to form an immediate opinion of She’s An Idiot, Let’s Smile, Nod, And Run Like Hell.
Of course, I’m talking about one of the myriad of things in the world I don’t happen to like.
I’ll admit it to you, here and now, and you can decide if you’d like to continue to read the blog of someone who doesn’t like sandwiches.
Yes, Internet, I am telling you that I do not like sandwiches.
I know, I know, how is there a God if someone admits to disliking such an old standby? How can the world spin properly on its’ axis while some Midwestern Idiot doesn’t like sandwiches? WHAT’S THERE NOT TO LIKE?
Well, I don’t know. I guess I just don’t really care for meat shoved between slices of warm bread (oooo, she’s being dirty now). Now, this isn’t to say that there aren’t exceptions to the rule: sometimes I might dig on a sandwich–especially if it’s dripping with vinegar–but overall, I’m okay without either.
Before you peg me as a card carrying member of People Who Hate Sandwiches And Make Those Who Do Feel Badly For It (sadly not a Yahoo Group at this time, HINT, HINT, HINT), let me be the first to assure you that I’ve never picketed a Subway, never thrown pad thai at people exiting Jimmy John’s, never even worn a shirt proclaiming my abhoration of such an American staple. In fact, surprisingly I don’t even own such a shirt.
I’m free to coexist peaceably among the Sandwich Lover’s Of The World, begging off when people go for a taste sensation on a bun, preferring, well, most anything else.
I’m free, of course, until I dare open my mouth and explain precisely WHY I won’t be going with for a li’l slice of Heaven. All it takes is some seemingly innocuous comment “Well, I don’t really like sandwiches” before someone jumps down my throat, feet first.
“Whaaaat?” They sputter at me, squinting at me disbelievingly, “You don’t like sandwiches? WHY, O WHY NOT? THEY’RE THE MOST WONDERFUL THING ON THE PLANET!”
When I reply, typically with a shoulder roll, a Golly Gee ‘Aw Shucks’ expression and a simple, “I don’t know,” The Sandwich Lovers invariably question me further. “Were you abused by a sandwich? Did you accidentally eat one raw? Did you RUN ONE OVER? Were you made fun of by a sandwich as a child?”
The answer to all those questions and more is a simple, “No” and the moment I utter that one syllable I’m immediately taken for as The Enemy Of The Freedom To Love Sandwiches and anything else I say is disregarded completely.
So far I’ve avoided defending myself the Creepy Sandwich People by explaining precisely what it is that I do not like: lunch meat is phony meat (don’t ask me where I got that idea. I refuse to eat meat from TV dinners, too), lunch meat is loaded with sodium and frightening preservatives (altho a hot dog is one of my favorite foods, well, ever), bread has a billion calories in it, I hate mayo, I like my veggies separate from the rest of my food.
I avoid explaining it because it’s pointless. I don’t like sandwich because I don’t like sandwiches. It’s simple and yet ridiculously (needlessly) complex.
I think from now on, I’m going to tell people that sandwiches are against my religion. Maybe it’ll help.