One of life’s great things is a grilled ham and cheese sammich.

The secret is the butter. The more butter you can slobber on that piece of bread, the better it tastes.

Well, no, the secret is the ham. I’m fond of plain old cooked ham. Sliced thinly, please. I don’t want the hickory smoked, or boiled ham, or any other creative way Babe the Pig was involved in my sammich.

Now that I think about it, maybe it’s the cheese. American is just fine, though a cheddar has perked up my taste buds from time to time.

Wait a minute.

The real secret of a grilled ham and cheese isn’t the butter, ham, or cheese.

It’s having someone in your life that knows how you like them fixed. And making you one. And bringing it to you even though you didn’t even ask for it. Because she knew that you’d been working all afternoon and you never stop to take a break even to eat.

She did it because she loved you.

Wouldn’t it be nice to find a woman who loved you enough to make you a sammich?