“What do you want for lunch?”
I was too old for a babysitter, but I didn’t mind staying with my cousin Candy. The rest of us were all around the same age but Candy was five years older than us. When you’re ten, fifteen seems unattainable.
“What is there?” I asked.
“How about a peanut butter sandwich?” she asked while pulling the bread out of the old wooden roll-top breadbox that sat atop the counter.
“Sure, but I can make it; I’ve done it before.” I really had, but more than that I wanted her to know that I knew how to take care of myself.
As she pulled the peanut butter out of the cupboard she said, “Why don’t you let me show you how to make a real peanut sandwich.”
Before I knew it she was layering the peanut but on thick slices of wonder white; no one ate whole wheat bread in the eighties.
“Don’t ya think you’ve got enough peanut butter on there?” The peanut butter was as thick as the slices of bread.
“You want it nice and thick like this so it sticks to the roof of your mouth each time you bite into it and you have use your milk to help wash it down.”
She was right, that peanut butter sandwich was the best one of my entire life and my cousin Candy is still the cool one.