Shark sandwich / Phyllis Math

A couple times a week I pack a lunch.  If time permits I try to do it the night before, which is more psychological than anything, creating the facade of having an extra five minutes to sleep in the next morning.  I go with the standard sandwich.  Nothing fancy.  As I pull out the bread and lunch meat from the fridge I usually ask my wife if she would like one as well.  She usually says yes.  Mustard for her. Mayo for me.  Pickles on both if we happened to have remembered to pick them up at the grocery store.  After assembling the sandwiches and wrapping them in aluminum foil they look exactly the same so I label them with a magic marker.  On my wife's sandwich I always draw a big 'S'.  On my sandwich I mix it up.  I try to make her laugh.  Once I drew a thunderbolt, one time a gun, another time a stick man with a large penis wearing a jet pack.  Anything semi-masculine and/or borderline offensive is fair game.  I then stack the sandwiches in the fridge with my wife's on top.  By the time I go to retrieve my lunch the next morning Sarah has left for work and has taken her sandwich.  I open the fridge and see my scribbled dump trunk, sword, or panther.

At first I conveniently assumed that Sarah noticed my high jinx while packing her lunch and that the site of the drawings, at the very least, made her smile and reflect on the nurturing and humorous man she was blessed with as a husband.  A man always packed with little surprises.  A man who somehow finds creative ways to make her laugh and appreciate the absurdity of life.  Sometimes I even went so far to think that that smile stuck with her whole walk to the subway, making her commute seem half as long as it was.  And perhaps later that day, when she pulled out the sandwich from her bag she'd again remember my drawing and couldn't help but letting an audible laugh escape.  Her coworkers would ask her what was so funny and she'd tell them about the hilarious drawings as they wondered why they're husbands never did anything cute or spontaneous for them.  They'd all be jealous.  I'd imagine one day I'd go with her to a work function of some sort and after getting introduced I'll be bombarded with "so you're the thoughtful sandwich sketcher", "Sarah's told me all about your silly drawings - what a guy", or "Heard about the swastika sandwich.  Nice to finally meet you.  Creative and handsome".

But here's the thing - to this day she's never said anything about the drawings.  

I suppose it's possible she sees her 'S' sammie, grabs it and heads out the door without ever noticing mine.  Possible.   Perhaps she sees my drawings, thoroughly enjoys them, but forgets to mention it.  Not likely.  Maybe she sees them but just doesn't think they are funny.  Impossible.  Fact is I have no idea.  Deep and vast are the motives and deductions of the woman's mind.

So I wait.  I continue to draft crude pictures on aluminum foil and wait.  I hope she says something soon.  On Monday it'll be a fighter jet and on Tuesday it'll be a moustache but after that I'm completely out ideas.  She can pack her own lunch.