The Cheese Stands Alone

There are times when I’m glad I live by myself.

Strike that. I’m always glad I live by myself, but some times I am more glad than others.

Also: remind me not to eat the cheese that’s in the square container in the fridge. Now it is dog cheese.

Not cheese made of dog milk, mind you. I don’t even know how you milk a dog (“You can milk anything with nipples.” “Can you milk me, Greg?” NAME THAT MOVIE).

Cheese FOR the dog. Because I sure as hell am not going to eat it now that I scrubbed the floor with it.

Do you want to know how I ended up scrubbing the floor with cheese? And why I’m glad I live by myself? Those two things are closely related.

I had cheese in the fridge, like a sane person. And the cheese fell out of the fridge, as cheese sometimes does, and it fell out of its container, but it stayed mostly in, so I could just cut the floor-touched piece off and move on with my life. I could be more obsessive about germs, and throw the cheese away, but why waste a $5 piece of cheese because a corner of it touched the floor, a corner that is now cut off and put in the trash? My parents didn’t survive the Great Depression so I could throw away perfectly good cheese.

I put the cheese back in the fridge, like a sane person.

Then I reached in the fridge for something else, and the cheese fell BACK out of the fridge just to annoy me. It fell all the way on the floor like a very bad cheese, like a cheese that I hadn’t just cared for enough to trim and return to its place in the fridge, where a sane person keeps cheese.

So I had to become insane, of course. I had to show that cheese who was boss, because that stupid Cotija was not going to pull this crap with ME.

I scrubbed the floor with cheese. I took the cheese and mauled the cheese. For about 15 seconds, like a completely not sane person, I scrubbed the cheese back and forth across the floor, damning that cheese to hell. Now how do you like being out of the fridge, cheese? Huh? Huh?

Like I said, it’s a good thing I live alone. Because of cheese. And other stuff.

Then I cleaned up, like a sane person, and saved the cheese for the dog, because if there’s one thing she doesn’t mind, it’s dirt, and because I’m not going to waste a perfectly good piece of $5 cheese just because it has dirt ground into it from me scrubbing it on the floor. Like a not sane person.