It’s Not About the Cheese, EVER.
As I sit and reminisce with my ex-husband about good times from 2005, we laugh and remember a day that for me, was ALL about the cheese. To him, it was not. Two very different points of view.
As we sit and laugh a good laugh, we’re reminded years later that some things really are very, very petty. Marrige-changing. Life-interrupting. The day I decided I absolutely will not stand another day being married to this man had far more to do with something other than cheese, but that’s a different story.
The dreaded wrapper. That God-forsaken wrapper.
Much unlike the exciting anticipation of Sweden’s Mickey D’s on skis, this was a dreaded and dreary drive-through on wheels with an unhappy ending. The beginning of a road trip that ended before it started. Simply put, always ask permission before eating someone else’s cheese. I shit you not. Always ask for fuck’s sake. Fuck definitely own this one. FOR FUCK’S sake.
The tempting, crinkly, greasy wrapper that morning had glorious amounts of sticky, delicious cheese stuck to it, thrown carelessly to the wind by its owner, I want to say, the ‘Sausage Egg McBiscuit’. We all know that’s not right, so let me look that up. Rather, the ‘Bacon, Egg & Cheese Biscuit’. That cheesy bastard ruined my day.
I hate to admit it but…
The second I locked eyes with that death-defying cheese, there was no way out. I HAD TO HAVE IT. Even at the great expense of my husband’s trust forever. It was just… meant to be. The second I scraped it off the wrapper with my teeth was the second I had died and gone to Heaven. The brief love affair was magnificent.
Imagine my husband’s surprise at the selfish thoughtlessness of my actions. Stealing that experience from him. Not ONLY did I steal the melty, mouth-watering experience right in front of him, I forever ruined the marital trust betwixt us both. (I’m bringing ‘betwixt’ back, bitches.) I can’t tell you how many times I have regretted this decision. The look on his face…
Now if you don’t know me by now, you’ll soon come to learn, that my all-time fave author is Mr. Stephen King himself. In all the horror that he hath written, nothing compares to the look in your lover’s eyes of having just witnessed your loved one eating your delicious cheese before you get the chance.
He was driving. What choice did I have? Putting myself in my ex-husband’s shoes for once, just now, I am immediately taken aback by my carelessness. We had CHILDREN together for fuck’s sake. I feel for him, I really do. I stole that glorious moment from his life. And it was glorious.
Regrets and heretofore…
I don’t think my ex-husband will ever look at me the same again. Married or not, I have shattered his illusion that I was, without a doubt, his soulmate. And at one point, we believed just that. We were soulmates. Soulmates amongst cheese and men.
To this day, I won’t scrape any cheese, with my teeth, off anyone’s Micky D’s sausage-whatever-have-you wrappers, without first weighing the consequences of my actions. Be warned.
