Yesterday I had the best sandwich ever. The mustard was Kraft, the bread Wonder, the turkey salty and slimy. Actually, it kind of sucked. What made it good was simply that I hadn’t eaten all day. Lets face it: Dog food would have tasted good.

But this isn’t a dating column about my lackluster lunch. It’s about how, sometimes, the best things are the things you have to wait for — like Christmas, your bachelors degree, or going to the bathroom after holding it for a real long time. These things all feel good because of the tension, climax and the sweet release when you finally get what you want.

The beginning stages of relationships have all of these elements (without the bathroom analogy). In the beginning, things are new and butterfly-in-your-stomach-can’t-wait-to-see-the-other-person exciting. But eventually the novelty wears off, and you stop getting dressed up for dates. In fact, you stop getting dressed at all, and most evenings consist of the two of you, sweat pants, and The Office on DVD. You get bored. You start thinking about that cute honey who rides the 49 bus. You start frequenting The Atrium, in the back of the HUB, because of the cute barista with a crew cut. You start thinking maybe the grass is greener.

But what if relationships could feel awesome all the time?

For some, like Amanda Owens, her three-year relationship is just that. And it’s all thanks to her forced bi-monthly relationship sabbatical. Her boyfriend works on a ship in the middle of the ocean, so every two months he leaves for two months. When her man’s gone, Owens goes out dancing with the ladies, going to happy-hour at her discretion and staying out all night. When ship lover comes back, Owens turns domestic, cooking spaghetti and watching old Patrick Swayze movies. She gets the best of both worlds.

“When he leaves, it’s hard, but it’s true: I do appreciate the time we have together more after being apart. We reignite our passion ever two months,” she said, adding, “It’s like being sober for two months, and being drunk for two months. You learn to appreciate both states of mind.”

I don’t know many sea-men (Owens introduced me to this term), and I certainly don’t foresee myself surrounded by a large group of them any time soon. But, a great idea hit me. What if I could go on my own relationship sabbatical, without actually going anywhere? What if I could somehow find a guy, somehow get him to like me back, and somehow begin dating? After a few months, when our love buzz starts to fizzle, I’ll ask him to pretend I’m not here. That means no texting, no Facebook messaging, no superpoking — nothing. I’d ask him ever so politely to please disappear, or let me disappear, without physically going anywhere. The rules of engagement are simply not to engage. Then, when we reunite two months later, like Owens’ relationship, mine will have all the passion it did in the beginning.

Unless we run into each other somewhere on campus or the Ave. That would not only be awkward, it would also mess up my experiment.

Actually, I’m not sure the relationship sabbatical can really work while on land. Because my hypothetical boyfriend, undoubtedly, would probably think it was a little weird. Then he’d think I’m weird, and end the relationship before I get to test my theory.

If only people in long term relationships could feel excited about seeing each other every day, could appreciate the fact that the odds of liking someone and having them like you back, presumably equally, is a statistical miracle.

Maybe a forced relationship sabbatical isn’t the answer, and couples should focus on gratitude instead of fixating on occasional boredom that invariably accompanies the comfort of daily company — unless we’re talking about lunch-meats. I’d suggest alternating turkey with a PB and J. Nothing’s wrong with a turkey sabbatical.

Next week: Robot sex. Are we getting too close to our computers?

[Reach columnist Erin Hicks at features@thedaily.washington.edu.]