The art of the midnight snack

I am staying at my parents house right now, and one of the things I always marveled at is how much food they keep in the house. It is easy for me to be impressed by this since my fridge usually only contains an empty soda box, an empty milk jug, and a box of baking soda long past overdue (I should give that thing a stir at least). My mother gets tired of me opening the fridge and gazing into it, but what she doesn't realize is looking at all this food for a single man is more entertaining and unique than whatever happens to be on television. She also doesn't realize that while I may not be making anything at that moment with the ingredients in the fridge, I'm scouting it for what is one of the most time honored food traditions; the midnight snack. After an evening out with friends, there are few things I enjoy more than being able to have something to eat before I retire for the evening. My favorite of these is the coveted turkey sandwich. Knowing the ingredients are there but not wanting to wake the parents, I start up the stairs slowly as the Mission Impossible theme is playing in my head. I'm a veteran of this house, and I know all the spots in the floor to avoid stepping on that squeak (otherwise known as parent wake alarms). I make my way up the staircase and slip into the kitchen. I must be getting better at this because it has been quite some time since my mother commented on thinking she heard a reindeer coming up the stairs in the middle of the night. Using only the light from the fridge, I construct my turkey with Miracle Whip sandwich and place it on the small plate that looks like it was born to serve such a meal. Making sure to get all the Miracle Whip off the knife because my mom asked my nicely to do so one time, I then make my way back down the stairs, then out to the garage to the soda fridge we keep and I get myself a tasty cafeinated treat (always a great idea before bedtime). Let me tell you, it was a good sandwich, and a great way to finish off a night. This experience, duplicated hundreds of times before, is something I'll always associate with being home.