The Curious Incident of Who Moved My Cheese in the Refrigerator

All right already! It's not that curious. I moved my own cheese. I confess. I'm not filing a complaint against myself, so don't whip out those plastic zip-ties just yet. And somebody please tell me, at what point did our society reach the tipping point where metal handcuffs are used more in magic tricks and kinky boudoir escapades than in police work? Seriously, people. Disposable handcuffs made of plastic? I'm checking out space in the industrial park for my proposed handbasket factory.

The cheese in question was last observed on the second shelf of my shiny silver Frigidaire. Frig, for short. Two eight-ounce bars of sharp cheddar, still in their original see-through plastic packaging, had resided on the far-right side of that glass shelf for approximately two weeks. Like stalwart soldiers they stood, on edge, awaiting a call to duty.

Yesterday morning, as I gazed at the cheese, I noticed that it was gazing back at me. "Oh, Val!" you might say. "You're so silly! Cheese does not have eyes." This cheese did. Green eyes. Not full of envy, but full of mold. That is SO not cool. Sharp cheddar should be dark yellow. Not dark yellow with forest green spots, like some wacky leopard all decked out for St. Patrick's day. And speaking of St. Patrick's Day...

See there, how good I am with a segue? Not the motorized riding-on kind spelled Segway, but the ol' switcheroo from one subject to another totally unrelated subject. Sometimes I really impress myself with my mad segue skillz. In my mind, I could totally write copy for the local newscasters.

St. Patrick's Day is  around the expiration date of 3-13-13 that was stamped on my cheese packages. I cry shenanigans! That cheese should have been good to go for another three-and-a-half months! And remember, the expiration date is the recommended date that you use the product by for maximum freshness. Not the date that it will kill you if you eat it. I had a good mind to take that cheese back to Save A Lot. But of course I didn't have the receipt. I'm not in a habit of keeping food receipts in case the food spoils three-and-a-half months before the expiration date. I'm sure they would have given me my money back at that store. They are quite friendly and customer-oriented. After all these years, this is only the second time I've had a problem with something I bought there. The first was some chicken that went bad before the date. When I mentioned it on my next trip, the check-out lady told me I should have brought it back for a refund, but I had already thrown it away. That was chicken. We're talking a day or two, tops. Not three-and-a-half months.

What's the deal? I bought the cheese and drove it ten minutes home and put it in Frig. It's not like I ripped off the packaging, rubbed it on my rump, drop-kicked it across the goat pen, rolled it end over end through the chicken house, called the dog to fetch it by mouth back to the house, used it to scrub under the rim of the toilet, and had Hick carry it under his armpits for two days before re-wrapping it and putting it on the second shelf of Frig. C'mon! People in Morocco, including a visiting Andrew Zimmern, eat khlea, which is fermented meat stored in its own fat. Not refrigerated. And it does not grow mold!

I know that cheese is made from mold. But that should be on the outside of the thick rind, or branching merrily through the cheese proper in veins that are a planned part of the cheese texture and taste. Not growing in ever-expanding circles on the surface of a storebought cheese brick.

You bet I moved my cheese. Right to the plastic trash bag. Which had a built-in cinch at the top, because police are using all the zip ties to subdue innocent cheese movers.