Ampersand

When I was younger, I used to think the word 'ampersand' was actually 'hamper sand'.
Every time I saw a Marks & Spencer or H&M, or just heard someone say ampersand, I could only think of hamper sand. The image was so vivid, so detailed. I'd picture an old picnic hamper on the beach, wide open with all its plates and cups and knives and forks exposed to the sea breeze. I'd picture people taking things from it. Scotch eggs and sticks of celery and bread sticks and potato salad. Cloudy lemonade. I'd picture the hamper being loaded back into the car boot at the end of the day, and everyone hopping in, all tired and sandy. And then I'd picture the hamper being carried inside, and opened, and a mother's hands taking out all of the plates and cups and knives and forks and Tupperware. Then when the hamper was empty, she'd tip it up to empty out all the little white grains of sand. It would fall onto the kitchen table as though from an hourglass. Hamper sand. Ampersand. &.