“It all starts with peanut butter and jelly.” I adjust my position in the armchair, leaning forward. “You open your Scooby-Doo lunch box and there it is in all its glory, encased in Saran Wrap ready to be enjoyed. For most, that’s also where it stops. You have a sandwich, you spend a maximum ten minutes eating it, and then you unceremoniously shit it out and carry on. Everyone knows what it's like to eat a sandwich but few know what it means to love a sandwich.”
I know this speech well, every word of my monologue spoken seamlessly. It’s a matter of practice.
“To love a sandwich is to love the world, to love the farmer who grew the lettuce, the chicken that laid the eggs, the man who slew the pig.”
I could go on, but the hint of annoyance in Francine’s face stops me. She rhythmically taps her long red nails on the mahogany desk almost as if she’s counting down the second til our session ends.
She purses her thin lips and clears her throat, “So as I said,” She abandons her tapping and gestures to the paperwork, “Richard is looking to get the panini press in the settlement. I know that both of you have expressed interest in keeping it but I would advise letting it go.”
Looking right at me, she raises her brows and speaks in the softer tone I can only assume she reserves for her hysterical clients, “Patty, we are making a case for you to get the house. You can’t get caught up with the little things.”
I stifle the urge to roll my eyes.