I’m sure this isn’t some profound insight for anyone else and likely won’t make a huge impact or anything…but man, it sure struck me.

All this week I’ve been on a potato chip sammich kick. By that I mean I’ve eaten a potato chip sammich just about every day, sometimes two a day. In fact, I hate three yesterday. Not all at once, mind you. Two for lunch and one for an evening snack. Because I didn’t cook dinner or anything.
What’s a potato chip sammich? Well, it’s your basic ham sandwich with plain potato chips tossed in there for some crunch.

Yeah, I know. Weird, right? Kinda my point.

So my hubby spots me eating this the other day (like, Friday I think?) and gives me an odd look. Because I’m clearly eating an unusually crunchy and munchy ham sammich.
Which was weird to me because….you’ve never seen me eat one of these before? I’ve been eating these since…well, since I started eating solid food, for crying out loud. I don’t eat ham sammich while there’s plain potato chips in the house without tossing some in there. Some people gotta have mayo. I gotta have pototo chip.
Finally he asked me, essentially, “wha?” And I explained what I was eating.

He stared at me for a bit, much like you’d expect someone to stare if you’d suddenly, casually picked up a bug and eaten it.

I thought this was a bit funny at first, then a bit embaressing. Finally I was a bit disgruntled. I don’t fuss about your habit of wearing socks in your underwear, do I?
Well, not much anyway.
So shaddap then.

I didn’t say that, naturally. But I was prepared to; and to throw in a patented scowl along with it, if he made a fuss.

But after he’d satisfied himself by casually pointing out that that he was sure a potato chip sammich violated some undefined natural law or other, he went back to watching t.v. with me and left it be. And I ate my noisy, crunchy, munchy ever-beloved potato chip sammich in peace. He didn’t even fuss about all the noise.
And it is noisy, I must admit.

The thing is…
He did the grocery shopping this week. And he bought ham sammich fixin’s. And two bags of plain potato chips.
Of course I knew why he’d bought them right off but I had to ask anyway. Because you never know. And it’s just swell to make ‘em say it, yeah?

Of course he bought them so I could make potato chips sammiches. And because he knew I was apparently suffering some kind of massive potato chip sammich deficiency this week or something.

And I thought…well, that’s the stuff innit? That’s how it’s supposed to be.
When your mate does something kooky but otherwise harmless, you don’t make a big deal out of it. You don’t try to correct them or fix them. You don’t grumble or pick on ‘em about it.
Your grin because you know you’re lucky enough to have someone who’s kooky enough to eat potato chip sammiches. And you make sure they have plenty of potato chips.

I don’t know why this suddenly makes me want to iron his socks, though.
I mean that really would be weird.