As the hours coast through late and tip into early, more and more…one by one…two by two…invariably fall victim to fatigue or sensibility and shuffle off in search of sleep. While some, seemingly immune to fatigue and bereft of sensibility, lean in and press on towards the hope and the promise of more. More laughs, more conversation, more time living beyond the beyonds.

As a “night owl,” with questionable sensibility, there are many nights where I have leaned in and I have pressed on with mixed results of what I ended up getting “more” of. I’ve gotten more laughs and I’ve gotten more conversations, but I’ve also ended up with a day after my search for more that could have potentially been more if I had shuffled off in search of sleep with those sensible sort of folks. So it goes.

Admittedly, and begrudgingly, either I have gotten more sensible (doubtful) or the pesky, yet desirable, advancement of age has increased my susceptibility to fatigue while bit-by-bit whittling away at my desire for more. Perhaps as we get older we have seen enough of more to know that when given the choice of more or less…less often winds up being more than enough…more or less.

You rarely hear someone ask for less…which could stem from our general proclivity to be somewhat agreeable to our fellow humans (somewhat more for some…somewhat less for others). When we are given more than we would like, or more than we need, we don’t want to inconvenience or offend the giver by requesting them to take away some of what they have gone through the trouble of giving.

For example, in a sandwich shop or any restaurant whose food preparation and service model relies on the customer to shuffle sideways while pointing at and pontificating about their desirable food fixins, it seems that if you want less, rather than more, of something you have to request none of it. Once something is slathered, unslathering becomes an inconvenience for all involved, and an irritant to the line of hungry shoulder-to-shoulder shufflers nudging you to shut up and keep on shuffling.

Over the years, while shuffling through such restaurants, I have deployed every synonym I can think of for “a little bit” in relation to the amount of mayonnaise I would prefer to be deployed upon my fistful of food. Smidgeon, tad, modicum, pinch, dash, dab, iota, whit, mite, splash, dribble, trickle…all fall on deaf ears as the worker glares at my sandwich and squeezes the mayo dispenser as if its contents will protect them from a hostile takeover by the grayish chicken perched upon the stale bread and limp lettuce.

It’s almost as if they don’t care what I want. Could that be? Could it be that some kid who wants more but is being paid less couldn’t care less that some old fart wants less rather than more mayo?

Other than shuffle-sideways-restaurants with angstful teenagers armed with mayo dispensers, whether you desire more or less of this or that is largely up to you. It’s up to you, but it most likely impacts more than you.

Sensible and sleepy “one-by-ones” miss their other one from time to time. Hold the mayo.