Write Me A Letter

Eleven year-old Cindy makes one hell of a sandwich. It's her own personal concoction. Wheat bread, turkey, pickles, an ample helping of cheese, mustard, sliced pepperoncini peppers, some more mustard, a little more cheese, then some more mustard. Oh, and a tomato slice... and some mustard.

It's a pretty damn tasty sandwich.

Last night, knowing I would be leaving a little early for work today, I asked her if she would make one of her special sandwiches for me to pack in my lunch. She bounded off like a monkey on a spring. Not too long later, she was back.

"The sandwich is in a baggie in the fridge and the rest of your lunch is in a brown paper sack on the counter. Don't forget to take it with you."

After what could only be described as a hectic morning, the kind that really gets you really in the mood for a tasty meal, I got the paper bag from the fridge in the break room. Wait. Indulge me on a brief tangent... you know that smell you get when you leave a Band-Aid on for a couple of days and it gets all moist and ripe? The fridge in the break room smells like that. A bad compressor, I think. Not cold enough.

Anyway... lunch. I laid the contents of the sack on my desk to take stock of the feast Cindy had purveyed. Everything on parallel lines on a folded napkin, of course, because I'm OCD like that. Special sandwich, bag of potato chips, stalk of string cheese and a Fiber One bar.

Hiding at the bottom of the sack was a note. It was adorned with a heart surrounding the word "Daddy".

A complete meal, indeed.

Dear Daddy...
I know I am takeing a risk Because I packed you a farty1 Bar and you might get fird Beacuse you fart so much I hope you have a great Lunch and enjoy your Sandwich I Love you
Love
Cindy Dunn

It looks like my work as a parent is going according to plan.