Wisdom, Love, and Subway

One of the consequences of running a creative writing website that you virtually ignore for three years (2004-2007) is you lose touch with some of the contributors. Another consequence is that you forget completely the identity of the contributors. (Some of us use aliases here at The Literary Brothel. Didn't'cha know?) This is a case where both consequences came true.

In other words, who the hell is Angelica L? Oh well, here's a piece by her griping about her boyfriend's consistent refusal to pay for their meals at Subway. Yes, the sandwich place. No, the boyfriend wasn't me. Please. Leave the bad jokes to me. -KV

WISDOM, LOVE, AND SUBWAY™
by Angelica L.

I hate stumbling upon an epiphany, suddenly becoming the butt of an unknown joke, suddenly realizing you're the "mysterious" pronoun being tossed around in the gossip to your right.

I have proven time after time that you only see what you want to see. (I'm not in any way attempting to thieve this line from "The 6th Sense") Love isn't blind, it's too easily satisfied. It's blind in the way that one would rather gauge their eyes out than admit they've gone against years of preaching and ultimately settled.

If love weren't a figurative concept, I'd kick the shit out of her, and if I were you, I'd be putting that money on me.

My knowledge of our relationship's down falls came slowly. Similar to the realization that mommy and daddy aren't ten feet tall or fearless, that contrary to your prior belief, mommy and daddy are human. (Faults, hang-ups, and insecurities included.)

After two years, and multiple breakups, my blinders crumbled (my own twisted version of "The allegory of the cave"). And, why the hell does it always end up as multiple breakups, and never multiple orgasms?

I thought I had obtained the "catch" of a lifetime. But as I also thought I was going to spend my life playing house and climbing the jungle gym with my second grade crush Brian, you'd think these realizations would arrive at a more convenient point in time. (Also, funny how they call it "crush" like a obvious foreshadowing.)

So, I've thought it through and arrived at the conclusion that... I was a real bitch in a past life, and now I'm exempt from romantic success. That or I'm completely inept at choosing compatible partners, but the first excuse doesn't make me feel as bad about myself.

Visualization Time:

Imagine reaching the cash register at Subway, after the energetic young girl has prepared your six-inch club sub (hold the mustard and onions please), and the grand total is announced by the cashier on a crowded Saturday afternoon. Now imagine glancing to your right, at your date, only to be met by a blank look of anticipation, then with your best look of confusion, glance back-and-forth between your date and the cashier until the awkward silence is broken by him uttering the phrase "aren't you gonna pay, baby?" Then, as you attempt to recreate the appearance of a smile, grab your wallet, and internally scream "AGAIN?!"

I really had to vent that memory.

Aside from the anecdote, I haven't given up on guys or relationships, but I hope I've finally realized how to pick a good one.

And I vow never to be embarrassed in a Subway again.

-Angelica L.