HOLY CRAPOLA!!! The offense and resentment of every over-reactive, feminist advocate and activist, just burned through this paper. Then proceeded to travel back in time, through the printing process, passed the editing board (if it made it that far- because our editor is an active female), back across the internet via e-mail and set the keyboard on fire. This in reaction to just perusing this week’s column title. Hold on… (getting the extinguisher) this happens more often than you’d think (shutting off the fire alarm) just a sec… (replacing keyboard- HCSAWWT has stock in HP btw) and there we go.
Ladies and gentlemen, (because there are some feminist activists who are of the less fair sex…no…no of the equal sex…same sex?… having sex?… SEX!) before you get your frilly panties in a wad and… oops correction—before you get your equally, socially acceptable undergarments in a bundle (whew)—take note. Nowhere in the offending title does it indicate as to “whom” is being queried to procure a sandwich.
For all you know it might be a request to a male friend in response to, “Hey man I’m going to the kitchen, can I get you anything?” Or it may be an order given to a child of either sex…which in some way would indicate abuse or break child labor laws. So let’s restrict requesting sandwiches from little kids to those composed of mud, sand or playdough. Of course considering my infrequent bouts of schizophrenia I may be telling me to go make us a sandwich (yeah that happens and I often offend myself). Then again, due to my somewhat delusional interactions with seemingly inanimate objects, who knows what is being asked to make a bread meat and cheese concoction for whom. Yeah, wrap your brain around that mess. In truth the stated request, (note it is a request, not an order or demand) is indeed directly directed towards a member of the female persuasion. Ack…there went another keyboard!
Why the offense? Why the feminist uprising against PB&J? Why so serious? One would think that considering the origin of the sandwich women would be proud to have overtaken and placed an all-female stamp of approval on its placement in society. And now a brief history on “the sandwich.”
The sandwich is named after John Montagu, 4th Earl of Sandwich, (13 November 1718 – 30 April 1792) (A MAN :-O), but the exact circumstances of its invention and original use are still the subject of debate (exactly how many uses are there for a sandwich). Lord Sandwich was a very conversant gambler and would not take the time to have a meal during his long hours at the card table. Consequently, he would ask his servants (be they male or female, we’ll never know) to bring him slices of meat between two slices of bread. Other people began to order “the same as Sandwich!”, and thus the “sandwich” was born. The original sandwich was a piece of salt beef between two slices of toasted bread.
It would seem a women’s rights victory that the association to one of the world’s most popular food creations is related exclusively to women. Ah but all feminists can see is chauvinistic men-pigs telling them their place is in the home, more specifically in the kitchen…barefoot. Oh no not the KITCHEN!!! But really ladies, is that so bad? The kitchen is a nice place; it’s well lit, there are yummy snacks, places to sit and maybe TV. GEEZUS PLEEZUS- there went another keyboard! Take it easy girls I’m running out here. Besides in some cases making a sandwich may be an exchange of services in a marital arrangement… NO, NO, NO, WAIT! Let me explain.
Approximately 7 years ago, (at what was then my kitchen table), Lil Red (future and current spouse) and I sat discussing what we needed from a marital union. The discussion was light-hearted and agreeable until I asked politely, “Will you make me sandwiches?” Damnit! Who would have thought there could be a transliteral, trans-lateral, worm-holed, time-continuum backlash from seven years ago…OK last keyboard! Luckily she let me explain. Along with my other bizarre handicaps, no sense of smell, irrationally paranoid fear of bears, etc., I am also unable to make sandwiches. Specifically those required daily for work: one meat and cheese and one PB&J, which sounds really REALLY stupid and borderline insane but true. For whatever reason attempts to make sandwiches results in a severe anxiety attack, accompanied by dizziness and vomiting. She was of course skeptical…until she saw me try to make a sandwich…it was nightmare fodder. Yet despite this, amongst all my other numerous faults and quirks, she accepted me for whoever or whatever I am and for the past 7 years has been making me sandwiches.
Maybe it’s not so much the request that offends women folk but the lack of appreciation behind it. A lack of respect and expression of gratitude makes for a poorly constructed, bitter tasting sandwich. Though I obviously cannot speak for all men and certainly, being spoken for, can’t speak to all women at least I can express myself to one.
My dearest Lil Red daydream girl, thank you for all the sandwiches and all the other little things you do on the day to day. Thank you for putting up with me and all my strangeness, my ups, downs and all arounds. Most of all- thank you for sharing with me this crazy thing we call life, I couldn’t do it without you and would probably starve. Happy Anniversary my love my life my all…now…go… make… me…a…dinner reservation at your favorite restaurant… any place that doesn’t serve sandwiches.
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Hope to hear from ya, until then try and stay focused. See ya!