Mike comes home from work today, sees the half of a hamburger I left on the stove from lunch and says, “Oh good! A sandwich!”

I hear him chuckling a minute later in the kitchen, and he says, “I love you.”

I say, “Thank you.. any particular reason?”

He’s quiet for a minute, and then he says, “It’s just really cute that you cut your hamburger into quarters.”

I start giggling and I say, “That’s one of those childhood things. You know my grandmother and my great-grandmother were total sticklers for etiquette. I remember saying to my grandmother, ‘Why can’t I just eat the flippin’ sandwich?’ and she would say, ‘We are not truck drivers, Sara, whether your step-father chooses to be or not. We do not eat like truck drivers. Therefore, we cut our sandwiches.’ I guess it’s just one of those things that stuck with me, because I can’t eat a sandwich without at least cutting it in half, but usually into quarters.”

I hear him chuckle again, and he says, “Think about that, Sara. It’s bred into you to cut your sandwiches in half. Here you are, in our little ghetto house, cutting your sandwiches in half.”

I process this for a moment and say, “Are you saying maybe they should have focused a little less on the sandwich cutting?”

Now we’re both laughing, and he says, “Your great-grandmother is probably rolling in her grave. She’s going, ‘THEY DON’T EVEN HAVE A DINING ROOM TABLE!’ But you’re still cutting your sandwiches in half, dammit.”