I was thinking the other day: 'What happens when all the sandwich combinations are done?'
Like, for instance, and for real, (because they're the same thing) (...) (aren't they?) BECAUSE, if you made every sandwich combo ever, with the norms like Ham & Tomato, and then Beef with Gherkin Relish, and then the more exotic ones such as Curried Egg, and Peanut Butter, and Cheese with Bacon and BBQ sauce... I mean, what then?
And who is defining all these variations? Who puts Peanut Butter in with the 'exotic'? I mean, say all the sandwiches are laid out on the counter, on this industriously long and sturdy bench-top specifically designed to cater for all the sandwiches in existence, ever, and they're all on brown bread and white bread, so that's double, and they're all cut into triangles or something absurd, and some have crusts off- so that's almost quadruple- and after all this, ALL THIS SANDWICH MAKING THAT GAVE THESE POOR PEOPLE RSI AND KNIFE-WOUNDS AND HANDY GARDENING HINTS AND LIFE-LONG FRIENDSHIPS AND MAYBE EVEN A BABY OR FATAL ACCIDENT, then what?
So then I started thinking, 'Lawn Bowls'.
That's the place to be. Also, a place where it's warm. Maybe a small room with a gigantic wood-oven fireplace. You wouldn't technically be able to cook pizzas in it, seeing as how it's gigantic and takes up probably most of the room, but just go with it for a minute. Just Go. With it.
But the point is. If it's not warm and it's not wood-oven, then what is it?
To be fair, I was attempting my hand at some painting a while ago (not the fancy kind where you use a blank canvas and stand in front of it wearing a white smock so any paint splatters look artistic) but the kind with lines and shapes, so you have guidelines that show you where you're supposed to go.
I said, "Guidelines? Do I look like I'm in Primary School?"
and it said, "WHY DO YOU USE ALL THE TISSUES!" in this really loud and intrusive way.
So I retorted with, "ALL I WANTED WAS AN EGG SANDWICH, THE HOT AND MELTY KIND, AND THIS IS WHAT I GET INSTEAD."
Because, I mean, it had to be pointed out that my end of the bargain was far from fair. It was so unfair that I was unclear as to my next move. Should I start painting? Or was I supposed to actually go and cook this egg sandwich?
And, paint this painting? This picture of fruit and teapots and teacups all arranged in neat lines and to appropriate scale, clearly on some fanciful picnic that I was not meant to attend?
Pfft! I said, "YOUR WATERMELON'S TOO BIG!" (Because it was. It was almost five times the size of the pear, and that is not the correct size for a slice of watermelon).
and the painting screeched out, "THAT IS NO WAY TO TREAT A MASTERPIECE!"
to which I politely (and with some scorn) pointed out that it was not yet a masterpiece.
It needed a master painter to create such a piece. That would be me.
The unpainted painting laughed at this. "MASTER PAINTER!" It cried with laughter and accusation and with a little hysteria.
"Yes," I said humbly.
"YOU?"
"Yes," I nodded, once again in a humble manner.
And the canvas portraying a feast of outlines but nothing satisfying solid, laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed, until I'd done quite enough foot-tapping and watching-checking and eye-rolling and page-turning of Who Weekly, that I gathered up all my courage and said in a calm, yet reproachful, voice, "Sir, I am off to make things happen."
And the laughing stopped, and I walked out of the room, out of the house, down to the shop on the corner, and purchased a bag of cheezels and a bag of shapes.
I said to the man behind the counter, "I had a dream that I was eating a box of cheezels, and so I have just now made my dreams come true."
And we laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed, but it wasn't four lengths of laughter in a whimsical way, like one throwing a plastic wrapper into a bin and the wind catches it so the person stands and watches it float aimlessly around in circles. It was four lengths of laughter that meant something.
Because it was about dreams. And dreams of cheezels.
glow in the darkness, that's how we do it.. just like the stars up on your ceiling.. that put you to sleep after
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