Our weekend dinner routine goes something like this:
J – “What would you like for dinner?”
C – “I don’t know. What would you like?”
J – “I don’t know, I asked you first.”
C – “So, what’s your point?”
J – “Custom dictates that whoever is asked first must yield to the questioner prior to posing any further questions.”
C – “That’s crap.”
J – “Hey, I don’t make up custom; I only follow it when it’s convenient.”
C – “Speaking of convenient, what do you think about that new Starbucks that opened up? I can hit that baby on the way to work without breaking lanes. Sweet!”
J – “You’re telling me. My bladder’s filling up just thinking about it.”
C – “You know, you said you were going to fix the toilet seat in our bathroom on Saturday. What’s the deal with that?”
J – “No no, I said I’d fix it on ‘a Saturday.’ There’s a BIG difference. I didn’t say it would be THIS Saturday.”
C – “I just looked up ‘smite’ in the dictionary. How would you like to see a practical application?”
J – “I like a good smiting as much as the next guy, but could we eat first?”

Off we went in search of toasted bliss. The first sign of trouble was the “space for rent” sign in the window of the former local home of Quiznos.

Have you ever had a hankering for something specific, and then have to settle for something else? Waiters hate it when that happens, it has “small tip” written all over it. When you’re standing out in the cold, looking through a dark window searching for any flicker of hope, well, there’s always Publix. Ah, but it’s just not the same.

You can still taste it. The bread. The ingredients. The unique blend of flavors you haven’t found anywhere else, before or since. Now it’s gone. That Publix sub may be really good, and it definitely has its moments, but it’s not what you want right now.

Ah well, there’s always that smiting I’ve got coming,