They say you should never start off on the wrong foot — but if you’re anything like me, you’ll start off on a couple of wrong inches at least. And speaking of feet, why do we call it a foot when most people’s are less than twelve inches long? Unless you wear a size fourteen, in which case, congratulations on finishing clown school. I was a clown school dropout, which is how I landed in the high-stakes world of sandwich artistry. Oh well, I guess if the shoe fits, right? I promise this won’t turn into some kind of running gag.
But starting off on the wrong foot isn’t just for relationships — it happens in the kitchen too. Burn your lettuce? Wrong foot. Mistake mayo for tartar sauce? Definitely the wrong foot. Drop an entire foot-long sub on the floor and invoke the five-second rule? “Hey, you sunk my battleship… no, wait — my submarine… sandwich. Either way, I lost.” That’s a wrong foot, a wrong knee, and probably a wrong elbow.
Now, I’ll admit I’ve had my fair share of wrong-footed moments outside the kitchen too. I like to keep souvenirs and gifts from girlfriends in a shoebox — I’m sentimental like that. I mean, is there really any other way to be sentimental? But more often than not, those girlfriends would end up walking all over me. And yes, I promised this wouldn’t turn into a running gag, but I never said I wouldn’t stumble my way into a walking joke.
One particularly pedestrian relationship left me with a shoebox full of memories and a smoldering desire for closure — quite literally. After the breakup, I decided to set fire to the shoebox — or at least I thought it was the shoebox. I was so sad I swear I had to listen to The Beatles’ “Yellow Submarine” a hundred times just to feel better. Turns out, I accidentally torched a shoebox full of my recipe cards instead. So now, I’m not only down a relationship but also my instructions on how to make my Yellow Submarine Sandwich. Let’s just say I ended off on the wrong foot, the wrong fire marshal’s list, and quite possibly the wrong setting for flambé. My kitchen’s seen more smoke than a sock pirate ship under attack — and if you’re wondering, yes, that’s the same scoundrel band of sock pirates that stole my laundry. Lucky for me, it’s easier to escape them when your sandwich doubles as a submersible — complete with pickle torpedoes.
So, whether you’re navigating love or foot-long subs, the lesson remains the same: make the best impression you can. And if you do start off on the wrong foot, at least try not to burn the shoebox. Or the lettuce. And definitely not the submarine.
