Sometimes a meatball sub is just a meatball sub

Last night, I decided to trick you into having lunch with me, so I bought you a meatball sub. I know you could never turn down a meatball sub. I went to your office (mysteriously located on the College Park campus) but you were out, so there I was stuck with a meatball sub leaking in my purse. I sat down on a bench to consider my options–it seemed wasteful to throw it away; on the other hand, I had a perfectly good vegetarian sandwich for myself and didn’t want to eat yours. A teenager walked up and asked me whether I was looking for you and I realized that this was your son. Luckily, he had inherited your love of the meatball sub. We had lunch and you showed up late, as usual, but by that time your son and I were the best of friends and your sandwich was just a grease-stained wrapper on the picnic table between us.