I am, as I'm writing this, enjoying such a sinfully tasty sandwich, I just may have to relive it in a constant loop of instant replays - much like a particularly lovely goodnight kiss when I was 17 - for the rest of the day.
For the record, it's very lean turkey breast with lettuce, tomato, a wee bit of mustard, and a few pickles for that certain dash, on toasted whole wheat. I'm telling you, it's a whole mouthful of joy.
Also for the record... he was a sweet-faced boy who held my face in his hands, brushed his lips lightly over each eyelid, and then gave me a kiss laced with a most heady mix of softness and insistence. He was my friend. I thought it was harmless.
Huh. I just looked down, and realised that the sandwich is gone. I'm almost contemplating having another one, as really, aside from the bread, it was a pretty harmless sandwich as sandwiches go.
Of course, I kept going back to the boy, thinking that a few kisses under a shroud of darkness would serve as nothing but release and relief between friends.
I've gone back for second sandwiches many times in my life. And I got fat. I went back for kisses too, and I lost my dignity. And my sweet-faced friend. Of course, he wasn't so sweet-faced at the end of it.
I'm relatively thin now, and don't need the second sandwich for lunch. And thankfully, I don't need to rely on stolen kisses from friends, either. I'll wait for the real thing, thank you. Just like I'll wait for dinner to eat again.
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