Ah, hello, my dear, sweet deli confection. Yes, you, giant Super Club sandwich (menu item #8 at Jersey Mike’s), you are my love, my match, my soul mate. I’m glad you’re here; I’ve been dying to see you.
Why do I need you so, you ask? Oh, I suppose I was first attracted by your ripe tomatoes and, I confess, I have a tendency to drool when I see so much meat. But now that we’ve gotten to know each other, it’s the subtler things that get me going: your tangy vinaigrette kisses, the way your crisp shredded lettuce dances on my tongue as we embrace.
But I’m afraid I have to break it off. No, honey (mmmm, honey), it’s not you, it’s me. Our relationship is turning me into an animal. I can’t control myself when you’re around. When we’re apart, you’re all I think about. It isn’t healthy. Well, yes, technically, you are healthy, what with your ample spread of vegetables and sensibly low calorie total…how can something that tastes so good be so bad?…the exotic yet somehow familiar spices hidden deep within your heart are just too irresistible; now that I’ve had a taste, I’m addicted…
No! This has to stop! Look, I can’t afford to carry on this affair. The cost is just too high. What? No, I’m not talking about damaging my marriage, I mean the literal price of being with you. At $9.95 a pop, you’re hardly a cheap date. Don’t you know what gas costs these days?
NOTE: To any who found this bit of culinary silliness tasteless (get it?), please accept a thousand of my very most humble apologies.