The Sandwich That Wouldn’t Stay Still
A funny bedtime children’s story about a runaway cheese sandwich, a wriggly chair, and one very hopeful little dog.
Ruby loved sandwiches.
She loved square sandwiches.
She loved triangle sandwiches.
She loved sandwiches with the crusts on, crusts off, or crusts going “crunch, crunch, crunch” in her mouth.
At teatime, Mum put a plate on the kitchen table.
“Here you are,” said Mum. “Cheese sandwich. Apple slices. Little blob of ketchup on the side.”
Ruby climbed onto her booster seat.
The sandwich sat in the middle of the plate.
Very still.
Very normal.
Very sandwichy.
Then Mum turned round to pour Ruby a cup of water.
Ruby looked back at her plate.
The sandwich had moved.
It was not in the middle any more.
It was near the edge.
Ruby gasped.
Mum turned round.
“It’s just slipped a little bit.”
“No,” said Ruby. “It is the sandwich that wouldn’t stay still.”
Mum looked at the sandwich.
The sandwich looked like a sandwich.
“Well,” said Mum, “we had better keep an eye on it.”
Ruby leaned close to the plate.
“Stay,” she whispered.
The sandwich stayed.
Ruby wriggled.
The plate wobbled.
The sandwich slid.
Sliiiiide.
Ruby pointed. “See! It’s doing it again!”
Mum put one hand on the table.
“Ruby, I think your wriggly bottom is making the table wobble.”
Ruby looked down at her bottom.
Her bottom gave one tiny wiggle.
“It wasn’t me,” said Ruby. “It was my bottom practising dancing.”
Mum moved the plate back.
Ruby stared at the sandwich.
“Maybe it wants to be a gymnastics sandwich,” she said.
“A gymnastics sandwich?”
“Yes. It is practising for the sandwich Olympics.”
Ruby picked up one triangle and made it stand on its crust.
It flopped over.
“Not very good,” said Ruby. “Needs more practice.”
Just then, Pickle the dog trotted into the kitchen.
Pickle was small, scruffy and always interested in food.
Especially food that was not his.
He sat under the table and looked innocent.
Too innocent.
Ruby took a sip of water.
Mum turned to get a cloth.
Pickle’s nose appeared.
Sniff sniff.
The sandwich moved again.
This time it was pointing the other way.
Ruby froze.
“Mum.”
“Yes?”
“The sandwich has turned round.”
Mum looked at Pickle.
Pickle looked at the ceiling.
A tiny bit of cheese was on Pickle’s whisker.
“Pickle,” said Mum.
Pickle wagged his tail once.
“Did you help the sandwich move?”
Pickle wagged his tail twice.
Mum gently guided Pickle to his bed.
“Pickle can watch from over there.”
Pickle lay down with a sigh.
Ruby patted the table.
“Right. No more dog driving.”
She looked at her sandwich.
The sandwich sat quietly.
For three seconds.
One.
Two.
Three.
Then Ruby reached for an apple slice.
Her sleeve brushed the plate.
The sandwich tipped halfway over the edge.
Ruby squealed. “It’s going on holiday!”
“Where to?” asked Mum.
“The floor!”
Mum caught the plate just in time.
“No sandwich holidays on the floor, thank you.”
Ruby imagined the sandwich wearing sunglasses and pulling a tiny suitcase.
“It wants to go to Sandwich Beach,” she said.
“Is Sandwich Beach nice?”
“Very cheesy,” said Ruby.
Mum moved the plate to the middle of the table, where it was flat and steady.
Then she tucked Ruby’s sleeves up.
Then she looked at Pickle, who was still in his bed.
“Right,” said Mum. “Let’s do a test.”
“A sandwich test?” asked Ruby.
“A very important sandwich test. Sit as still as a statue.”
Ruby sat up straight.
She made statue arms.
She made statue cheeks.
She made a statue face that looked a bit like she needed to sneeze.
The sandwich did not move.
Ruby stared.
Mum stared.
Pickle stared.
The sandwich stayed exactly where it was.
“Hooray!” said Mum. “Mystery solved.”
Ruby narrowed her eyes.
“Maybe it is asleep.”
“Maybe,” said Mum.
Ruby leaned close.
“Shall I wake it up?”
“Gently,” said Mum.
Ruby picked up one sandwich triangle.
She made it walk across the plate.
Step, step, step.
“Oh no,” she said. “It is running away again.”
Mum raised one eyebrow.
“Ruby.”
Ruby grinned. “This time I am helping.”
The sandwich ran up Ruby’s hand.
It ran towards her mouth.
It stopped at her lips.
“Where is it going now?” asked Mum.
Ruby opened wide and took a big bite.
Munch.
Munch.
Munch.
Ruby smiled with her cheeks full.
“In my tummy,” she said, after she had swallowed. “That is the best place for a sandwich to stay.”
Mum laughed.
Pickle sighed from his bed, because no sandwich had stayed with him.
Ruby ate the rest of her tea carefully.
The apple slices stayed still.
The ketchup stayed mostly still.
The last sandwich triangle tried one tiny wobble, but Ruby caught it.
“Not today, sandwich,” she said.
At bedtime, Mum tucked Ruby under the duvet.
“Did you enjoy your runaway sandwich?”
Ruby nodded.
“It was the sandwich that wouldn’t stay still.”
“And where did it end up?”
Ruby patted her tummy.
“Parked.”
Mum kissed her forehead.
From downstairs came a little sound.
Sniff sniff.
Ruby opened one eye.
“That’s Pickle looking for sandwich tyres,” she whispered.
Mum smiled. “Sleep now, Ruby.”
Ruby snuggled down.
In her sleepy head, a tiny cheese sandwich rolled along on skateboard wheels, waving goodbye with one crusty corner.
But Ruby knew where runaway sandwiches belonged.
Not on the table.
Not on the floor.
Not on holiday.
In her tummy.
And there, at last, it stayed perfectly still.