The Sandwich of Disappointment

what is in my sandwich

my sandwich contains:

a portion of ham, a slice of cheese, a smidgen of mayo and

a thick layer of disappointment

It was a risk, a calculated risk, how well a sandwich, not bought but made, would be.

I took a gamble at 7am, staring at the last slices in the open bag of bread.

I took a gamble at the mayo left out all night, warm to the touch, slightly sweating round the edges

think of the money you'll save, I thought,

how positive, how frugal, how healthy.

I took the ham out the fridge, intentionally ignoring the thick lumps of potential gristle.

I cut the cheap economy extra mature cheddar thinking, it'll be alright.

I made that sandwich, cling filmed it up, popped it in my bag and,

forgot about it.

Till lunch.

I ate half the sandwich.

Betrayed, by all the good a homemade sandwich could be and do and represent, that sandwich was a great disappointment.

Worse still it was all the things I had a feared a homemade sandwich could be.

Today I am having a day off from sandwich making, today I am recovering from the trauma.

Today I am buying a sandwich.

And let that be the last we ever say about it.