So we finally are settling in to our new place. It seems to be going pretty well. We look out over a Papaya Dog and are next door to a halfway house and down the street from a Catholic Church— it’s pretty typical New York.

We’re also right near a Subway, so last night, Chris ran out and got a foot-long sub for us to share. It was a simple and satisfying meal that we got to enjoy on the roof deck of our new building as the sun went down over the city.
We often share entrees when we go out to eat. At most restaurants, a main dish is enough for, like, three people, so it works out perfectly. You save money and still have room for dessert if you want it. Not to mention, it’s terribly romantic. Hah.
Of course, some foods are better for sharing than others, but that’s probably a matter of taste. I was just about to say that I can’t imagine sharing a hot dog with someone, but then I remembered a family/business trip to Maine and watching a mother split a hot dog amongst herself and her four young daughters.
Not only that, but an early 90’s PSA on Nickelodeon told kids in no uncertain terms that they could not catch AIDS from sharing a hot dog with their friend. Good thing—I’ll bet parents were worried, you know, with all those kids sharing hot dogs out there.
Whatever—it doesn’t matter anyway since I hate hot dogs and Chris doesn’t eat meat—just goes to show, I guess. Show what, I don’t know. Perhaps that you can cut or divvy up pretty much anything?
Clearly, I am overthinking this point and really just get back to unpacking…

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