Peanut Butter Sandwich

Not long ago somebody asked, “What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done?” I shrugged and blurted out the first thing to pop into my head, “I stabbed a peanut butter sandwich multiple times with a butter knife once.” That answer likely popped into my head because it was a big lesson about myself that I learned early. A lot of shit pisses me off, but I have an inner voice that habitually asks, “Is this worth killing a sandwich over?” Sometimes it is; most times it isn’t. I’ve actually asked it out loud on occasion, but of course I’m met with blank stares that are probably not worth satiating.

I must have been around eight. Mom made me a peanut butter sandwich. (I didn’t like jelly when I was a kid. Come to think of it, I still don't like grape jelly.) It must not have been on a plate, because there would be blunt knife scars in the countertop reminding me of the deed for the rest of the time we lived in that house. My mom asked me a question. I remember the question as “How was school today?” but that begs the question of why I would be eating a peanut butter sandwich after school. We always ate home-cooked suppers (as they call them in Iowa) together as a family at the dinner table after dad got home from work. I would have only been eating a peanut butter sandwich for lunch. Unless… maybe that’s what I was pissed about. No, it seems that we’d either had a half-day at school or it was Saturday and the question was, “How was school yesterday?”

“Fine,” I muttered. My mom was skeptical. “It doesn’t sound like it was fine.” To this day, perhaps my biggest pet peeve is when I say something honestly and then someone either challenges me or tries to make me change my answer. I’ve already given my answer to your question; what the hell else can you possibly want from me? “Are you sure?” “It doesn’t sound like you’re sorry.” “Wouldn’t you rather…?” “Don’t you mean…?” “I was hoping you’d say….” Etc. If you don’t want my opinion, don’t talk to me.

Anyway, my mom kept pestering me about my day, insinuating something must have been wrong with it. I tried to remember something bad just to have something to tell her, but couldn’t. I think I stabbed the sandwich just to shut her up. Au contraire; I was sent to my room “to think about what I had done.” I thought, “Well, that was weird. Now she really thinks I had a bad day.” Then I probably played G.I. Joe or something.