I’ve professed my feelings for you on many occasions. I know that most people will never understand us, and that’s OK. I don’t care how you smell or that you’re home to a Bubba Gump Shrimp Co.; I love you with my whole heart.
I can still remember when my parents first introduced us. I was so excited to finally meet you! You were cold at first, but then you offered me some of your delicious clam chowder, and we warmed up to each other. Our courtship continued as I sampled your other fine culinary offerings. Having five brothers and sisters with very few food boundaries meant that I could try a bite of my little brother’s corndog, a lick of my sister’s ice cream cone, a chunk of my mom’s funnel cake, and my very own churro. I still like walking to Boudin Bakery and helping myself to a few more sourdough samples than is really acceptable. I would feel guilty, but they really don’t guard their samples very well, and I usually end up buying a round anyway. I like walking back to my apartment, hugging the carby goodness to my chest like an edible baby.
There is really so much that I like about you. I like that your sea lions are there to pass judgment just as much as they are there to be judged. I like that you don’t put on airs, and I even like your key chains filled with crabs and glittery crap. They remind me of a simpler time when a piece of sparkly plastic was all I needed to be happy.
Once in a while, I’ll still stop and watch a street performer or speed painter do their thing. I’ve always wondered if it actually involves taking speed. Other times, I’ll walk into one of your nautical clothing shops or use a Press-A-Penny because, why not. I love walking by the stores that sell things I can’t imagine myself buying, like $14 disposable cameras or dolphin shorts that say “MILF” across them. It reminds me that you’d love me even if I wore an Alcatraz jumpsuit every day. Not a lot of people would.
Still, our relationship hasn’t always been perfect. Sometimes, your obnoxious tourists will shove me and make me doubt my love for you. But then I’ll bump into the fleshy arm of someone with a tattoo of their dead cat who makes me smile, and all is forgiven.
I think you bring out a sense of adventure in me. When I buy a $5 pair of sunglasses, I never know if they’ll break on the walk home. Nor do I know if my stomach will survive eating a shrimp cocktail out of a four-ounce paper tray, but I don’t care! Sometimes all I want is questionable shrimp in and around my mouth. You get that, and you don’t judge me. Even though you will always belong to a fisherman, I will always belong to you.
Written by Wendy Steiner.
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