My Dirty, Secret Love

I've always been a sucker for salty, bad-boy types.

I know it's wrong, but I can't help myself. I'm embarrassed to be seen in public with you. I sneak around with you, only occasionally - a foodie booty call. Usually late at night. Possibly drunk.

You're cheap. Trashy, even. But my secret passion for you is quick to ignite. The merest whisper of your name in a sitcom punchline is enough to make me begin to salivate and yearn for you. I feel dirty, and think about you often.

Oh, it's true - I've ducked out under cover of night to pick up your hot ingredients. I've driven to out-of-the-way convenient stores, and paid a stranger cash so that I could spend a guilty evening with you. I've never let on about us.

Dearest Creamed Chipped Beef on Toast, I'm sorry for all of the sneaking around. I can't help myself.

I love you, and I don't care who knows it.

Yours,
RootFood