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".