Ever had a polony-finger sandwich?
Neither had we until last week.
A kind-hearted soul made Stef and I polony-finger sandwiches. We poked at them and laughed at them, and then started making Fear Factor and Survivor jokes.
Eventually, we realized that unless we wanted to be really rude, we were going to have to eat them. (The old missionary credo followed: "Where you lead me, I will follow - What you feed me, I will swallow")
So, we laughed until we cried, mostly at the faces that the other made as we choked down the sandwiches. We still don't know what the "juice" was that was spread on the bread, nor do we ever want to. And we will hopefully never have to figure out what exactly constitutes "polony".
And, all things considered, it really isn't that bad. You see, we just got our latest donation of expired foods from the grocery store. So, it could have been 4-day expired, warm cole slaw or 3-day expired, warm (yellowing) sushi. Mmm...
Just another day in the glamorous world of turning darkness into light.