Lost Love

'Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all.
-Alfred Lord Tennyson

I am mourning the loss of a loved one. Although we were together for only a brief time, I developed a love deeper than I thought possible. I can only write about this having finally come to acceptance, although the stages of grief were very difficult for me. (The above picture is of me in stage four.) Who knew that Wendy's Buffalo Chicken Salad was a limited time special? From the first time I laid eyes on it I knew it was meant for me and I still dream of its spicy goodness.

The devastation of being prematurely separated from my fast food soul mate was intensified by the traumatic manner in which we were ripped apart...

Mouth watering, I stood in line at the 123rd South State Wendy's. The siren song of my love's poster started my digestive fluids rushing and my stomach grumbling. The juicy words dripped from my mouth to the teen-aged cashier's ears as I ordered the delight of my life. As it turns out, they discontinued the salad before they removed the picture from the menu. The guy at the register informed me they had sold the last one less than an hour ago.

Grief stage number one. DENIAL. I argued that they could not be out of salads as the picture was clearly still posted. The cashier was insistent that my love was no longer around.

Stage two set in quickly. ANGER erupted and I strongly recommended they remove the poster to save others from the emotional anguish that I was thrust into.

In stage three, rational thought tried to emerge as I BARGAINED and asked if they could somehow approximate my delish dish by throwing some of that irresistible sauce on some nuggets or something. They wouldn't.

Stage four. DEPRESSION. See above photo. I allowed three customers behind me to place their orders as I took a moment to honor and grieve my gone goddess before I was able to gain enough composure to settle for the sloppy seconds of the Spicy Chicken Sandwich.

ACCEPTANCE, stage five. I am relieved to pronounce that I can fondly recall the times my love and I were together and rarely cry anymore. I credit my supportive psychologist wife and Winger's Sticky Finger Chicken Salad with my nearly complete recuperation.

[Thanks to Rita for writing most of this post.]