I am in love with a girl who works behind the counter at Cheese & Stuff. She has pretty blond hair, a warm smile, and an accent that is probably Greek. I can't remember a time when she didn't work at Cheese & Stuff, though it's sometimes hard to remember my own life before I first met her. I began coming in for the sandwiches, but I got so much more.
Once, I ordered a Middle Eastern plate just so I could hear her say "tabbouleh". Then I pretended I didn't understand, so she'd say it again.
About a year ago, I switched to the Deluxe sandwich, and I noticed that she started looking at me differently. Maybe she appreciated my healthier diet, with the addition of tomatoes and sprouts to the standard sandwich. When she asked me if I wanted mayo or mustard, I said "Light mayo", and I thought I saw her raise one delicate eyebrow. Of course, the Deluxe sandwich costs thirty cents more. She's not dealing with a cheap college student anymore. Instead, she's talking to a financially secure man who appreciates the finer things in life. Roast beef. Swiss cheese. Her eyes. Then when I pay, I get a parking validation ticket, even if I didn't park in the garage that day, just in case she's wondering if I have a car.
One of the side benefits of my romance to the Cheese & Stuff girl will be my stronger relationship with Sam, the proprieter of Cheese & Stuff. He'll be on track to become my new new father-in-law, or uncle, or whatever the relationship to my beloved happens to be. I could even help run the store. I have some ideas. For example, I'd de-emphasize cheese, and start focusing more on stuff. Together, we could normalize the prohibition against spitting, though Stanfurd fans and knife-chasing would remain strictly forbidden. Sam knew what he was doing when he set the standards.
I don't know the name of the lovely girl from Cheese & Stuff, and I doubt she knows mine. But that's not important. I'll just call her "Mrs. Keane".
Now Sean, there's a chance she too feels a flutter in her stomach and a redness in her beautiful olive-toned cheeks when you enter the store. Perhaps she secretly wishes you'd buy more cheese, and less stuff. She can talk for hours about cheese. Really sell it.
One never knows.