For the Love of...Squash?

I hate when things linger. The smell of a freshly roasted turkey smothering each fabricated absorbent in the house, the taste of each sweet ingredient gathered in one simple, yet flowering dish, and the memory attached to when where why and with whom you ate a particular meal with, that stood out as something more than just food. I've recently and unintentionally adopted a love really hate relationship with my grandma's homemade butternut squash casserole. Its warm and squishy, yet crispy topping latches onto my prime taste buds and my collective tummy fat for support. For butternut squash casserole's sake, I love tummy fat... that's not the issue! The lingering memory of valentine's day with my grandma's recipe for a presence of how a man felt for me, ties together in the really hate part of my adopted relationship. That beautiful and pleasantly fattening memory of my casserole love is tackled by 500 Ib football men geared in steel with every new bite I take. Oh and yes, the relationship, not with the casserole, with the man who showed his love for me (along with about 10 other women, little did I know) did not end well. Now, my casserole addiction, adventure, and alliance has ended with war. Not so adopted love anymore.