I made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for breakfast yesterday morning. There were only 3 slices of bread (plus the end pieces, which neither Scott nor I will eat), so I made it a double-decker. I ate it at my desk, and it was delicious.
Last night, I dreamt that I wanted another PB&J sandwich, but remembered that we were out of bread. And lo, I turned my head and saw a previously unseen full beautiful loaf of bread on the counter. "Now I can make a sandwich!"
I woke up this morning, eagerly anticipating that creamy rich peanut butter and delicious sweet grape jam, only to remember that there was, in fact, no bread in the house. And I was sad.
I repeated the story at work, and nearly cried over my peanut butter deprivation.
I repeated the story to Scott when I got home, the sandwich-shaped hole in my heart still gaping.
And now I'm telling you.
Damn, I miss that sandwich.