How a internet’s misfortune beloved will propose

At Home with Stephanie Smith author of Blog 300 Sandwiches and

Stephanie Simth during home with beloved Eric Schulte — Photo credit: Rene Cervantes
Source: New York Post

ALLOW me to deliver myself: we am Mr 300 Sandwiches, a male behind a lady who started a blog wherein she creates — we guessed it — 300 sandwiches for me with a guarantee of an rendezvous ring during a end.

No problem, right? There’s zero wrong with dual people doing good things for any other.

The blog, 300sandwiches, went viral when my partner Stephanie, a contributor for Page Six, wrote an essay about it in The Post behind in September. Suddenly, everybody and their hermit was weighing in, and there was fallout.

I was dubbed “the internet’s misfortune boyfriend” (which is kind of flourishing on me) and called a “sandwich whore” (guilty as charged).

As always, there’s some-more to a story than meets a eye.

I tend to prepare many of a dishes in a household, perfectionist zero of Stephanie solely good review during a finish of a day. I’ll mount during a slicing house while she sits on a bar sofa in a apartment, both of us with booze eyeglasses in hand, shouting as she talks about that socialite has gotten indignant during Page Six, or that insect many accurately describes a certain PR rep.

Every integrate has inside jokes, and ours consisted of 3 measures of 1950s normal gender roles; one magnitude of “Borat”; half a magnitude of saccharine, jarred vigorously, served in a highball with a Krazy Straw — because, because not?

“Baby, how about we make me a sandwich tonight?” I’d say.

She would routinely hurl her eyes and giggle as we went on creation a meal.

One day she responded to my fun with one herself: She finished me that sandwich. Thus began a sequence greeting of one-upmanship to an contingent consummate where we spoken those fatal words: “Baby, you’re usually 300 sandwiches divided from an rendezvous ring!”

TKO: Perfect absurdity, right in a kisser. we win. (Or did she?)

And usually like that, we combined a devise that would provoke some, enthuse others and pleasure distant more.

Now, a year and a half in, and with reduction than 100 sandwiches to go, not a day passes though nonetheless another uninformed sign from friends, family, or pointless people in a reserve during Citarella that we climb closer to a finish line, that I’d improved be ready, and that now there’s a throng watching. (“Yes, I’m aware. Thank you.”)

Few things are some-more nerve-rattling for a immature male than scheming to propose, though carrying been grilled per when I’d cocktail a doubt by Matt Lauer on Today brings this fear to a whole new level.

I already know that in a eyes of a public, a mill will never be flawless enough, a ring never glossy adequate and a offer never ideal adequate to prove a exquisite ambience and eternal bravery of internet commenters.

And after 300 tasty, lovingly finished and beautifully documented sandwiches — a herculean nonetheless nonessential gesticulate — how could we presumably magnitude up? How could my offer be thoughtful, original, noted and pleasing adequate to equal or transcend a scale of bid she’s given me?

(Stephanie, stop reading here.)

My strange ideas — morning over Haleakala, fireflies lerned to spell out “Marry Me” like in The Nutty Professor II, full page ad in The Post — now seemed partially quaint. Oh, a pressure!

Facing such lofty expectations, The Internet’s Worst Boyfriend® is dynamic to attain and stir no matter what, notwithstanding a few new setbacks: my strange devise to introduce 68 miles above a Earth aboard a Virgin Galactic moody was dashed after a initial flights got behind and we finished adult a few hundred grand brief of a fare. My backup devise — orchestra, ballpark, cameras rolling — was recently stolen undisguised by Kanye West. What’s a devise now? Specifically, how do we out-Kanye Kanye here? Someone has to one-up that guy, so let it be finished by an normal joe like me, who, for what it’s worth, is rather studious about his damn croissants.

A 300 dancer Bollywood offer spectacular?

300 John Cusacks with boomboxes overhead?

A 300-member flashmob gospel choir?

A multiple of a three? I’m stumped. So we hereby ask a artistic talent of a all-knowing and forever correct internet: Tweet me your ideas during @mr300sandwiches and assistance minister to a biggest offer spectacular ever. After 300 sandwiches, usually something that even Kanye hasn’t finished will suffice.

This essay creatively seemed on The New York Post.


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