Is a bologna, cheese, and catsup sandwich reason enough to run away from home?

I once told my wife that when I was a kid, my siblings and I were served bologna and catsup sandwiches for lunch every day during our summer vacation. No cheese. No other condiments. No potato chips. No dessert.

Just bologna, catsup and white bread.

One sandwich per kid.

My mother would apply the catsup on our sandwich in the shape of a smiley face, perhaps to distract us from the paucity of nutrition contained therein.

Oddly enough, I didn’t mind this meal very much. I didn’t know enough at the time to complain, I guess.

My wife said that if her mother had ever tried to serve a bologna and catsup sandwich, she and her sister would’ve probably left home and never returned.

I don’t even think she’s exaggerating.