[Guess what day it is? It's the first day of June! Know what that means? I am going to post something every single day this month. Yep. Every. Single. Day. Strap yourself in and get ready for some crap-tastic writing. I read on a blog recently (of course I don't remember which one) that the good thing about writing every day as opposed to once a week or once a month is that not every post needs to be pure gold. If you write less often then your readers will expect THE GREATEST STORY EVER.
But... if you write every day, it's okay if the occasional post less resembles The Great American Novel and more resembles a giant pile of dog crap. In fact, that is probably a very good thing because your expectations, dear reader, will be lowered and you will think the following day's post is a giant pot of gold at the end of a rainbow, when in fact it is actually a giant pile of petrified dog poop. Which we all know stinks less and is much easier to clean up than fresh doggie doo-doo.
Being a writer is about the power of lowered expectations. Or something.
There it is. My disclaimer that, while most of the posts during the it-rains-every-day-at-3:00 p.m.month of June will be on par with the usual fabulosity that is this blog, I totally understand if a few of them make watching Nancy Grace on full blast while eating a rotting pile of garbage and having garden gnomes throw steak knives at your head seem like a preferable form of entertainment.
Although if you tell me that I will throw steak knives at your head.
Let's get to today's post, shall we. As you can see, I'm starting the month-of-writing-everyday off with a real winner of a post. And no, that wasn't sarcasm.]
Dear Lady Making My Sandwich at Fresh Market,
Honestly. Again? We go through this every time. And it's been at least 487 thousand times.
Yes, I checked the cooler to see if there were already pre-made chicken salad sandwiches. There were pre-made wraps, but no sandwiches. Sure, go check if you must. I may not be a rocket scientist, but I'm pretty sure I know the difference between a wrap and a sandwich.
I'm not entirely sure why you need to go "in the back" to make my sandwich when everyone else gets theirs made in front of them. I will not allow myself to think of all the vile and horrific things you are doing to my sandwich back there. Instead I choose to believe you are running after the chicken, arms outstretched, bent over, calling "here chicky chicky," slaughtering and de-feathering said chicken once caught, waiting for the celery to grow, waiting for the bread to bake and beginning the process of making the homemade mayonnaise, which takes a good 328 days to age to perfection. It's the only explanation I can come up with for why my hair has grown to my ankles and why I've have aged sixteen years by the time you come forth from the back with the sandwich.
And another thing:
I know The School of Sandwich Making in one of the hardest in the country. Heck the entrance requirements alone are enough to make 97% percent of applicants quit in the first two days of Hell Week, so I applaud you for sticking it out and fulfilling your dream of becoming a sandwich maker. Sincerely, I do.
And I know the classes are both mentally and physically grueling. I have heard they are comparable to the Navy SEALs training program. And just like the SEAL graduates, I know The School of Sandwich Making graduates are the best in their field at what they do.
But I'm wondering...
Was the instructor looking the other way the day they covered how to properly assemble a sandwich? I have heard that the instructors at The School of Sandwich Making never take their eyes of their trainees. They watch like hawks, waiting for the slightest infraction in sandwich making, ready to dole out swift punishment should an infraction occur: lifting a 450 pound jar of mayonnaise above your head for 45 seconds - better not bend those arms or you'll start all over again!
Implausible as it sounds, the SoSM instructors 'looking the other way' is the only solution I can come with as to why you absolutely suck at sandwich making.
Well...there is one other thing I can think of. It involves you offering favors of a particular variety...
No! I refuse to believe the SoSM instructors could succumb to such moral compromising.
I know it may be hard for you to believe, but I enjoy having the contents of my sandwich - you know, the part between the two slices of bread - evenly distributed throughout the entire sandwich. I know it seems like a culinary delight to consume the entire contents in the first four gargantuan bites and eat nothing but bread in the subsequent bites, but I can assure you, it is not.
I will be back soon. Maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after. I am giving you one last chance to redeem yourself before Very Bad Things start happening.
I would say you can do it; I believe in you, but honestly, I think a mentally challenged spider monkey has a greater chance at success than you do.
The Sarcasm Goddess
Could it be? I have a number 36? As in follower. (I actually also have a 37th, Beverly Diehl, whom I recently "met." She has a great blog: Writing in Flow which you should totally check out, but not before you take a gander at the award below.
Internets allow me to introduce Chad. Chad enjoys long walks on the beach and reading poetry in the shade provided by the old oak tree in his back yard.
Maybe Chad's the one who loves playing golf. And also? Playing golf. Either way, welcome Chad. We're glad you're here. Chad didn't say it, but I know he wants one of my super cool awards. And I am one to never disappoint, so here it is Chad. Way to go, dude. Way. To. Go.