There is a point in your life when you do something you regret; you might let your fish die, or kill your husband’s mistress, or become a regular at Subway. Unfortunately, I have succumbed to the latter.
It started at the beginning of the year, when I discovered how expensive London is. I have grown up paying £2 for lovingly made sandwiches of fair size and taste. (If you visit Truro, find Warren’s by the Cathedral!) Subway had never quite been worth it in my home town – the extra pennies are not justified when the cheese tastes worse than the plastic bag it comes in. However, in London, there is no Warren’s, and every meal costs you more for less. And that was when it started.
Soon, the pretty salad girl smiled at me when she saw me. She would ask how I was. I got a ‘Subcard’, which gives you a free Sub if you spend £50 instore. I ate my free Sub.
Sometimes days would go by, but I would always find myself drawn back to the little Subway at the end of the road. (Originally my brain wrote ‘end of the world’ – perhaps that says too much about my London existence.) It is worse than an addiction simply because it isn’t an addiction – I would find this so much easier if I could just say “I’m addicted”. But I’m not, and I keep returning… My problem is, I think I like Subway.
Yesterday I was miles away, and thought I would try the Subway there. They splatted half a scoop of meat onto the bread, threw a couple of leaves on, and declared the Sub complete. My heart broke; I discovered I do not like Subway. I like my Subway, and the pretty salad girl.
PS: I need to get out more.
PPS: This footnote has the HTML tag “<Sub>”. That made me smile.
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