Mac N' Love
Whenever I see, smell, think, or taste macaroni and cheese, I reminisce of euphoria. A sweetheart euphoria of when I'd visit my boyfriend every weekend at his job of being the "milkshake boy" at a popular neighborhood diner. He hates macaroni and cheese, but every time I'd see a steaming heap of it in a bowl topped with parmesan cheese, toasted breadcrumbs, and leafy greens coming out on the heavy arm of the waiter, I'd drool over it; I'd drool over it more than I'd drool over my sweetheart. Ah, yes, I remember it all very distinctly; those first few weeks of being stuffed on newfound love. It's ironic that the place I visit him, eat with him on break, and where I every time see that delectable mac n'cheese, is the place where we first met. The first thing I noticed was the way he moved as he handed me the check. I was with a group of friends and we were about to go to the sneak preview of the newest Harry Potter movie, but I was much more interested in asking for more cherries from the milkshake boy and asking him to go to the movies with us since I had found two spare tickets on the floor in front of the milkshake and drink bar. Long story short, my friends helped me hit on him and we've been together for five months. I suppose it's a chain reaction thought from macaroni and cheese and I also suppose that it's ironic that mac n' cheese is the only thing I've never eaten at that neighborhood diner.