Gorging on Superbowl leftovers, the monkeys put in their sandwich orders:

“I want ham and salami and pepperoni and Capicola and . . . ”

Christ, he sounds like the Smails kid from Caddy Shack.  “Okay, okay, you want cheese?”

“Yeah, and cheese . . . and corned beef.”

A littler voice chimes in, “yeah and i want corned beef too.”

I hand over the grinders and blessed silence reins while they stuff meat in their mouths.  Swig beer.

“Mom?”

“What now?”

“This is a totally rockin’ sandwich!”