Just Me and My Dog

I’ve started a love affair with hot dogs. Something I can’t seem to get enough of this summer.

There’s something almost spiritual about holding a soft bun at room-temperature, with a little flour on it’s bottom, oh so cute, as it wraps around a warm, plump dog. It really doesn’t matter to me how it’s cooked: boiled, bbq’d, or nuked, what matters is the act of maintaining love. It’s the smothering of affection that counts. The satisfaction of reaching a fulfilled relationship that will never let me down.

So it begins

First, I spread a nice layer of mayonnaise on the inside of the bun. Then, lay the dog down slowly into its clean, white bed. Next, squirt mustard and ketchup on top of it, but I refuse to end here. It can’t be over yet! Every relationship must have its quirks you know. As an act of impulse or just mere habit, I begin swirling the yellow and red together as if making music, tenderly creating the perfect covers. Finally, while adding a layer of chopped, red onion, the job is done, and my dog is tucked into the perfect setting.

And then it’s over, I’m a lost woman. Each bite is the perfect delight. I forget that I’m on a place called earth because my heart has been transported to heaven.

My mind goes into a state of absolute peace…