There it was. It sat on my laps in all its warm, toasted, aromatic goodness, nestled in a soft, white parcel that crinkled with every touch, teasing me to open…and eat…and savor. But I dared not. How could I? Here I was. middle seat in a flight filled to capacity, surrounded by on-the-go travelers like myself, all having neglected their breakfast to make the morning flight, just like I had. How could I open it? It wouldn’t be proper…wouldn’t be considerate…would be downright mean.

The sandwich – oh! the lovely sandwich – still fresh out of Wolfgang Puck’s oven, sat on my laps waiting, warming my thighs with its heat, reminding me that it was still there. I cringed. What torture. I imagined the first bite of this delectable being – crispy bacon crashing through eager teeth, scrambled eggs lathering my whetted tongue, fresh tomatoes mixed with cheddar cheese making their sweet and savory journey through my young and vivacious digestive tract. My taste buds screamed like a troop of hyenas. Torture!

What to do? I stealthily looked to the right and to the left. Surely, my well-to-do neighbors had skipped their morning meals for this flight. The aroma would only seductively hover around their nostrils, triggering brain signals that would churn into stomach pangs that screamed, “Feed Me!” Especially my pleasantly pregnant neighbor to the right. Then they would both look at me in utter disgust. I couldn’t possibly be that mean…Could I?

But this sandwich! She started to speak. “Just a few minutes and I’ll be cold,” she taunted. “Just a few minutes and these bread slices will harden. Just a few minutes and the tomatoes will grow stale.” What a personality she had…all the more delightful for the screaming hyenas in my mouth. They screamed back at me, “Eat!”

I had to do something. My fingers wrestled with the opening of the pack. “Click!” The box retorted – very coquettishly, I might add. Here we go. It was open. Out came the aroma of that sunrise sandwich. And surely, it sang triumphantly to the tune of Norah Jones, “Sunrise, sunrise!” Wolfgang Puck, you maestro you. I steadied my hands, this time not caring about my neighbors’ plight. This sandwich had me entranced.

I reached out a steady hand and boldly clasped a half of the sandwich. I began the triumphant journey from plate to mouth, like Israelites being led out of Egypt into the promise land – my belly. Ready…steady…almost there…and…Wait! What’s this?

My sandwich had company. To the right and to the left, my neighbors had reached down and unearthed sandwiches of their own. Also from Puck! Well now, how about that? I eased up. I rested my back against my seat, enjoying the first mover’s advantage in our world of sandwich eaters. The sandwich taunted no more. I had conquered. What a day. What a lovely day.

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Food for thought (😉). What is that thing that you are afraid to do for fear of ridicule and criticism? Would they really criticize you? Or would you just inspire your world? Think on it.

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