We were in college. It was my freshman year. It was the third date. The guy took me to Subway before heading downtown for the night. My favorite sub on the menu has always been the meatball marinara. That gooey, sloppy, pile of a zillion calories had my heart. I always order it with a heaping pile of lettuce, provolone cheese, a pile of olives, and an offensive amount of parmesan cheese. It was my style back then, and I ordered it almost every time I went to Subway. When I stepped up to the line to order my sandwich with my date, I had 2 choices: #1: Order my beloved meatball sub (spilling all over my shirt, dropping down my face and all over my hands, and my dignity flying out the window), and enjoy the heck out of it. #2: Skip the meatball sub, try my luck at some other mediocre sandwich, keep my shirt clean, and look like a lady the rest of the night. Little did I know this sandwich choice would be so significant to my future with this guy...