Elitism and PBJ

The thought of Peanut Butter and Jelly in a sexual relationship kind of makes my stomach turn

The greatest and most interesting feat in my personal history of sleep eating was constructing and devouring a peanut butter and jelly sandwich while completely zonked out. The fact that I cannot remember this event, and that the only evidence I have to support its accuracy is eyewitness accounts and the uneaten quarter sandwich presented to me by the eyewitnesses, makes it no less miraculous in my mind. Firstly, how did I know which jars in the refrigerator were Peanut Butter and Jelly? Was I not just as likely to make a Mayonnaise and Jelly sandwich? Thought provoking, to say the least.

Finally, though, the piece de la resistance, so to speak, was the fact that the bread was toasted. Now, I don’t want to embarrass myself more than I have already, but when I’m awake I never toast the bread for PBJ. Why? Simple: because I’m fucking lazy as shit, that’s why. When I want PBJ it’s because I’m starving and don’t have time for the frills of toasted bread. That kind of superfluous horseshit is for stuffed-shirt types.

This begs the question: am I more patient in my sleep? Am I more of an elitist?

Here’s a link to an article about Ambien and sleep-eating. But don’t think this won’t come up again. In a big fucking way. There’s a lot left unsaid.