It used to be like this: at the beginning of our relationship, three years ago, Michael used to make me lunch every morning. It was luscious. My sandwiches would make the girls in my class throw their peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the trash. Better eat nothing than not eat Michael's sandwiches. On any given day, there were at least ten ingredients in my sandwich: the bagel (and oh, never a plain one) or bread or homemade bread, at least two types of cheese, at least two types of ham or salami or turkey, tomatoes, sun-dried tomatoes, peppers (for prettiness he would include both yellow and red), lettuce. Sometimes there was more. At times, the bagel was so fat, it would not fit in a sandwich bag.
Now it is like this: Michael tells me in the evening "Take care when you make your lunch. That Mexican cheese we have has been recalled."
Ou sont les neiges d'antan?