I still remember when we first met. That fateful Tuesday when I would walk into Subway, and you would steal my heart forever. You didn’t care what others might think. Nor did it matter that I was old enough to be your father. You knew how to satisfy an older man: With bacon.
Ah, bacon. The salt! The grease! The nitrates!
With reckless abandon you ignored the corporate protocols and grabbed a handful of the blissful strips. With feigned insouciance you slapped the freshly microwaved bacon onto my sandwich. But this is where your love showed through. There was no blotting of the grease (ah, flavorful grease!) Every bit of bacony goodness was placed on the bread as if you were a cardiologist insuring your future employment. And for every Tuesday since, our joy would light up the franchise and bring a smile to all who saw us together.
Until yesterday. Yesterday I woke with a flutter in my chest. Was I about to pay the price for consuming so many pounds of bacon, or was it the shadow of some greater evil?
With nary a care I traipsed into Subway, only to be trapped in a bacon lovers Stalinist nightmare! There was your understudy, Bacon Lad, in his appointed place. But in your station was the dreaded Bacon Miser! With pinched face and shadowy mustache she doled out the government mandated 4 anemic strips. With disdain she blotted up the grease threw it away. How could I enjoy this sandwich? Where was the love? Where was the bacon?
Oh Bacon Honey, what did I do to drive you away? Was it the pizza I ordered the week before? I swear it wasn’t my fault! Friends were coming over, I couldn’t leave the house! I know I’ve taken you for granted but I promise I‘ve changed! Come back, Bacon Honey, this time it’ll be different.
Just come back.