The boy in the sandwich shop FANCIES me. Today he managed to sneak bits of grated carrot and red cabbage into my sandwich; last week it was bits of red cheddar. If love was a salad it would be... well not much of one, actually. Oh yes, some might say that it's because he's a shabby sandwich maker and never cleans his chopping board between orders: not so. I say it's because he cherishes a flame of desire for yours truly in his manly breast. What would you losers know about romance anyway? Or salads for that matter.