Dear Subway,

We've had some good times together, haven't we? Who could forget the time when we first met? I asked you for turkey, you smiled, laughed and asked "Toasted?" Blushing, I accepted your offer. I ignored the warning signs, that things were moving a little too fast. I mean...toasting? On our first date? I couldn't help myself, it just felt so right. You asked me "What else?" and oh, sweet sweet Subway, you showed me a bevy of options...green bell peppers, spinach, lettuce, pickles, tomatoes and oh so much more. I thought This could be the one. I watched as you seductively squirted mayonaise and mustard onto the goopey, melty cheese that was the symbol of our love. You're a lady, Subway, and you didn't want to give it all up on our first meeting...you didn't give me all the lettuce I wanted, but I understood.

Over the years, things started getting more serious. You knew that you had to keep things interesting or I'd get bored so you introduced things like new breads and those little breakfastey things that I never ate because you know I'm not a morning person. I knew I could count on you and you knew you could count on me.

But we've had our bad times, too. I know it's been years and you swear it meant nothing to you, but what you did with Jared...it's hard to regain trust after something like that. Still, we tried. We went to couples therapy, we even took a break to see other people. I know it must've hurt to see me with Quizno's all those times...I know it must've hurt because when I came back there you were. With Jared. I'll never forget that night outside your apartment when I stood there in the rain watching you and Jared's silhouettes in the sweet embrace of sandwiching.

Against my better judgement, against everything in my head that told me Just walk away, Phildo. Walk away before it's too late and you're damaged forever...we decided to give it one last go.

To show me you were willing to make the effort, you said you'd only charge me $5 for a foot-long sandwich. You knew exactly what buttons to push to get me back. At the time it seemed too good to be true. I mean, five dollars? You didn't even do that for Jared. You moved in down the street; I mean we weren't really sure if we were ready to move in together after our break, and I'd come over most nights. Things were really turning around.

Then...with no explanation, you changed. No more five dollar foot long turkey sandwiches? I asked you why, you were cold and distant. You started trying to make me buy weird combinations of things like pepperoni and meatballs; the Subway I fell in love with and worked so hard to stay with for all these years just wasn't the same.

Today when I came over, though, you did something I never expected you to do...you told me I could only have 16 pickles. What's worse, it wasn't even you who told me. You had your friend tell me. Shocked, I didn't know what to say. I asked if you were around but Pita told me you didn't want to talk about it. Sixteen pickles. All these years together and in the end it came down to sixteen miserable little pickles.
You really woke me up today Subway. Breaking up is never easy but this isn't exactly the first time we've done this dance, is it? I mean you can't even have the decency to tell me face-to-face that you don't want me to have your pickles anymore? I'd say this was a tough decision to make, but you kind of made it for me. I know the lease is up on your place soon so I'd appreciate it if you didn't renew it. I think it'll be best if we just never see each other again. I'll always have fond memories of our time together; the early days that is. Meanwhile, go to hell you miserable bitch.

With regret,
Phildo

P.S. - I debated as to whether or not to tell you something so...intimate...but I'm going to do it because I want you to hurt like I do. Quizno's? Oh yeah, Quizno's and me are getting back together. Because she has a full pickle bar. All. You. Can. Eat.

This post was guest illustrated by The 21st Century Mrs. Be sure and click her name to check out her hilarious musings and secret dance parties. 

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Okay. Maybe someone can explain this to me so I won't feel like I'm going out of my about-to-be-unemployed-again mind. Subway's $5 Footlongs, we need to talk.

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