I make my husband a sandwich everyday for work. Once, I jokingly kissed it to show him that I made it “with love.” But then for some reason it stuck, and that just became the habit. Make sandwich, give it a little smooch, put into baggie. Except when I’m mad at him. Then that sandwich isn’t made with love. It gets no kiss. Yeah, enjoy that sandwich, jerkface. I hope it tastes like despair.