My wife and I were recently buying a couple groceries after work. It was only late afternoon but too late to buy raw materials, take them home, prep everything, cook everything, deal with the dishes, and feel like getting five minutes to yourself.

So she surprised me by suggesting subs from the prepared foods area of the grocery store we were in.

I love these subs. They’ve been dubbed “Day Enders”. Because eating one is the last thing you’ll accomplish for the rest of the day. The clean plate club meets on the couch. Pants optional.

She gets a sensible adult amount of food within her sub. Enough to be full but not curse god or stomach. I am not a sensible adult.

Meat, cheese, mayo, all the veggies. Yes even the olives, banana peppers, and onions. You have crushed red pepper relish today? Scoop some of that in there too. Horseradish you say? Slop it on in. I’m going to know I ate this sandwich. It’s not going to fade away like so much apathetic fast food. This one is going to be a memory.

What I didn’t realize was the growing disgust and concern with each biting topping that was added. My wife and the deli employee were trading looks like war survivors who catch each other’s eyes. They meet every other Tuesday in a support group for my breath and other airy orifices.

Having read this far you may think I’m over exaggerating. Being ridiculous for the readers. But I have picture proof.

Most of the time when ordering two different subs at the same time a mark is placed to tell the difference. I’ve seen an X, gender symbols. Or easy ones like this ones ham, this ones turkey. But this one took me back.

Yes. My sub says “couch”. As in this is where I expect you will be spending the night. Regular comedians working at the deli. More like Jersey Open Mike’s.

It was all worth it though.

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