kimberliah…

Picture this… it was a couple of days ago.  My work day was completed and I was back at home.  Dinner had been prepared, served and devoured.  The kitchen had been tidied. The gym had been visited.  The day was winding down and I felt the exhaustion of the previous hours events beginning to settle in.

“Please you put, put, puuuuUUUt something special in my lunch pail for, for, forrrrr tomorrow?”

I looked tiredly at my Dickie.  He smiled tiredly back at me.  How could I say no…  I scooted him off to bed, tucked him in and whispered a promise that he would awake to something amazing in his “lunch pail”   As I returned to the kitchen, I realized that we were officially 4 days away from Pay Day…. otherwise known as the beginning of “The Downward Slide of Available Foodstuffs in the Kitchen” Day.  Damn it.  I had promised that kid something special and I knew that I better damned well deliver.  You are only as good as your word, with Dickie.. and I was NOT about to cross the kid.

Luckily, for me, we had both full-sized tortillas and a bag of shredded cheese.  The boys, for whatever odd reason, always seem to enjoy feasting on day-old quesadillas, while at school.  Easy enough.  As I got to work making my world-famous Easy Cheesy Quesadillas, I grumbled over the unusually small opening on the bag of shredded cheese.  I know what you assholes are thinking!!!  I do NOT have obese hands, damnit!  It actually appears that God thought it would be humorous to give me a rounded, cushiony body and the wrists/hands of a disappearing anorexic.  Awesome.  So, as I was scowling at the tiny hole that was currently holding my hand hostage my eyes came to rest on the “fancy” packaging…

Oh… shit.  Look who came strolling into town, acting as if they own the place.  Dang, Sargento… You fancy, huh?  Bragging about your “off the block” cheese…  and suddenly, without warning, my mind went deep into its happy place.   I pictured little individual shreds of cheese, standing upright and dancing around while singing “Jenny from the Block”  I pictured wheels of cheese, off to the side…. upset that their cheese wouldn’t make the cut.  I pictured various cheeses, sitting on a stoop in New York. I pictured a separate bag promoting “1 cheese American” bragging that it’s contents were “off the slice”  I briefly wondered where all the other “non-block” shredded cheese actually had originated from.  I envisioned a generic shredded cheese factory, where cheese is born already shredded…  It was around this time when I remembered my promise.

…and recognized the all-too familiar smell of burning tortilla.  I ended up blaming the sightly blackened quesadillas, which ended up in 2 of my kid’s lunches on Sargento… and their stuck up cheese.