Grilled Cheese, My Perfect Man

 I really want a man who is like a grilled cheese. Why? I’ll tell you. A grilled cheese sandwich keeps me company on lazy and rainy days. It’s familiar. It’s the only thing my tummy can stand the look of, smell of and taste of when I’m sick. When I’m riddle with indecision, it’s the one thing I know I always want. If I need comfort when I’m sad it’s there. And, when my doctor told me my autoimmune condition robbed me of nearly all my vitamin d, putting my bones at risk, I ate them regularly to help undo the damage. 


It’s solid and sturdy on the outside but warm, smooth and nourishing on the inside. And, if cooked in gobs of butter, it, has a delicate sweetness.  These are qualities I also crave in a mate.

I used to think the kind of bread, white, pumpernickel, rye or even a marble swirled used to make a grilled cheese mattered, much like the appearance of a man. Now I know the exterior doesn’t as long as it’s firm, absorbs all flavors well and can take heat without getting burnt and bitter.

Removing the crust was always my first step when that hot sandwich reached me. But, I realize there’s no need. Adjusting the surface doesn’t change the real makeup of a grilled cheese at all nor does it work on a person.

Then, there’s the cheese. I thought I preferred something simple, just one type.  I’ve learned a good blend is best: American, Gruyere, cheddar and pepper jack; All melted together to create an effortless melting pot with a little spice, a little edge, an effortless flow, and a lot of give.

My love of a grilled cheese has taught me so many things, non e greater than like it, I want something and someone I can depend on to add to my joy no matter what the day or year.

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