Egg Salad

According to a U-City fireman, nobody eats egg salad sandwiches. The fact that I placed just such a sandwich down on the supermarket conveyor belt was cause for eight to ten exclamations of , "Egg Salad!" followed by a baffled shaking of the head. Let me just say this, you can find damn near perfect egg salad sandwiches (with tomato!) in London drugstores. Almost every sandwich in the STL is hoagie-sized, especially the fancy schmancy gourmet ones with their seven different kinds of meat and mayo and spices on gigantic, lip tearing bread. Don't get me wrong, as a sandwich fan these BIG sandwiches are fine and sometimes even craved. But most of the time when I want a sandwich, I want it on nice soft sliced bread with three ingredients or less. Again, in London there were actual restaurants dedicated to this very brand of sandwich, all lined up in neat triangular packages. I know gas stations here have similar packages, but from my experience these triangle packages encourage staleness and bellyaches. I was thrilled to see the egg salad sandwich ready-made at Schnuck's puffing up its chest against the Poor Boys and King of the Hills. I'm going on and on like this because I think I want another one.
Those of you who are "adults" will probably wonder why I can't just make my own simple sandwiches at home. Well, I can, however things are vastly more satisfying when you don't have the residual guilt of leaving a mustard covered knife setting in the sink in a pile of crusty forks and peanut butter caked spoons. I am bad bad bad at doing dishes even though we have dishwasher. The effort of remembering to rinse and place utensils in this machine is too much for my brain which is filled with other vital tickings such as "Where did I leave my keys?" and "I miss Ari Fleischer."

Alert to My Five Readers: I will be heading to North Carolina to spend the holidays as they should be spent: laughing with my mom until we cry and crying with my mom until we laugh. I might post, but it is unlikely. Computer time is hard to come by as there are two teen girls chattin' it up 75% of the day. If I don't see you, remember nothing suits Christmas better than passing out on someone else's couch.