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He is passionate about sandwiches.

October 2, 2009

The first argument I had with my boyfriend had nothing to do with feelings, finances or friends. It had to do with something a lot more personal, and a lot more meaningful, at least for one of us.

The first time I had an argument with my boyfriend, it was about sandwiches.

When I came downstairs after a shower and saw that he had prepared breakfast for us, I was thrilled. He made one of our favorite breakfast staples: open-faced (“Polish”) sandwiches and tea. Everything was super except for one small detail: my sandwiches had cheese. And butter. And I’m lactose intolerant.

So, I did what any good girlfriend would do while her loving boyfriend was off in the bathroom: I took the cheese off, scraped off the butter, and re-arranged my sandwich as if nothing had happened.

I thought I was in the clear until I walked over to the living room, plate in hand, and noticed another plate of sandwiches on the table. With no cheese. And no butter. My designated sandwiches. I instantly thought, “oh shit!”, but there wasn’t time to react.

Before I knew it, he was back, and already staring the sandwiches up and down. As he looked between the layers of ham, tomato, radishes and onions, he looked like he was going to shed a tear. Heart broken, as if I had just murdered his baby.

The silence was THICK. Like the ham.

He shook his head and began slowly explaining to me the “special method” in which he likes his toppings arranged. They were all out of order. Others were missing. He was obviously very passionate about his sandwich toppings.

As he began to re-arrange everything back to normal, I simmered in the first big lesson I learned about dating this guy – never come between him and a sandwich.

Clearly, it’s a “special” relationship.

I should have seen this coming, though. I already knew about his love affair with food. And lots of it. I mean, this is the guy who, while noticing that I was making us breakfast and had eight eggs in the pan one day, looked over my shoulder and said, “That looks delicious. But what are YOU going to eat?” The same guy who, when asked how much bread I should pack for a weekend of camping, just for him, replied, “About a loaf a day”. The same guy who only goes to visit my relatives when there is a possibility of cake being out on the table. The same guy who makes me carry a fork in my purse at all times “just in case” he needs to eat something, most often a poppy seed cake. Out of the box. While driving home after just having purchased it. And who’ll drive across all of London, to eight different grocery stores, to find his special barbeque sauce (then exclaim like a schoolgirl upon seeing it, and rub the jar against his cheek with love as the man behind him slowly takes a few paces back and makes a “WTF” face). The same guy who, upon meeting the groom at a friend’s wedding we were attending, first congratulated the guy, then followed with, “So, what’s for dessert?”

And so, it’s been about a year since I re-arranged his sandwich toppings, and it still remains one of the most intense moments in our relationship. I will never again get in between him and a piece of bread.

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