A Weekend Treat

All he wants for lunch on the weekends is a little delicacy I like to call a Mom Sandwich. It's found down the street at our neighborhood market, made from plain wheat bread, plain old cold cuts and plain yellow mustard. I don't get it. For my dollar, I want a crusty roll and lots of cheese not found in my refrigerator and some sort of terrible fatty meat like salami, things my Mom - queen of plain Cheerios in snack bags and juice in old pickle jars (I love you, Mom!) - never bought when I was little. But nothing makes him happier than a Mom Sandwich and so, I take the short walk down our street and buy one, knowing I should probably just make it myself, but not quite ready to yet.