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Well, once I met a pretty girl, the fairest in the land
Young men in the county, they were asking for her hand
They would offer her the moon and they would offer her the sea
I offered her a sandwich and she said she’d marry me
Last night, at some point during a five-hour conversation that covered every topic imaginable, the “make me a sandwich” phenomenon came up.
As a general rule, every one of my guy friends has a thing for sandwiches. And wants a pretty girl to make him one. Where did this come from? Sure, they’re tasty. But please explain this fascination with female-crafted meat-stuffed bread.
Later, as we talked about love languages, someone brought up that we often give the way we want to receive. So we end up expressing love selfishly. If words of affirmation mean the world to me, but acts of service/receiving gifts of sandwiches rock your world, I might shower you with praise when all you really want is ham and cheese on rye. And no one wins.
Dear [hypothetical future someone], I’ll make you a sandwich. A massive, messy one that spills out from all sides as you attempt to bite it. Just be sure to recognize that you making me a sandwich in return might not be as equally powerful an expression of undying love. Deal?
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A good read, been around for a while, is ‘The Five Love Languages” by Chapman. It should be mandatory while in the Dating Jungle – some marriages would be happier if they had read it at all at any point in their union.
While in the throws of courting, when the right one arrives, you are willing to crawl through ten miles of broken glass on your knees just to get to their doorstep with a big smile and tears of unspeakable joy.
Hopefully the same passion remains for those years when feeding them or pushing their wheelchair will be required.