There comes a time in every mom’s life where she asks her
teenager if he needs anything from the store and he requests
something so awful, so weird, so heinous that she fears he may need
There comes a time in every mom’s life where she asks her teenager if he needs anything from the store and he requests something so awful, so weird, so heinous that she fears he may need counseling.
Oh yeah. I am that mom.
I don’t know how it happened. One minute, Junior was a perfectly ordinary, smart-mouthed teenager. The next minute he asked me to pick up a little something from the store that made me fear for the future. Fear it. Seriously.
He asked me to get him some spray cheese.
I know. I know. The words “spray” and “cheese” should never, and I mean NEVER, be used in the same sentence. And yet I did pick it up at the store. I know. I’m not a good mom. Oh, I try. But clearly I have failed. I purchased spray cheese. And there’s something worse.
I ate it. All of it. The entire can.
I know. I can’t believe I did that, either. Look, I’m all about food. Anyone who has seen my butt understands that. But I like good food. I like delicious stuff prepared with lots of good stuff. I shop at farmer’s markets and local farms. So by “good stuff” I clearly mean “cheese that doesn’t come from a can.”
And it’s not like I meant it to happen. It was just that I was feeling snacky. You know when you aren’t really hungry, but you’re not really NOT hungry either? So I was looking aimlessly in the pantry while trying very hard to make my brain forget about the Halloween candy hidden back behind the baking dishes in the cupboard above the oven. And that’s when I saw the spray cheese.
And that’s when my tiny brain, exhausted from trying to resist the lure of the million or so Kit Kat bars resting politely in their unopened plastic bag, said, “eat this.” Seriously. That is what my brain said. Which obviously proves that my brain was tired. And a bit sick. Also, it may prove once and for all that brains do not have taste buds.
So before I knew it, the spray cheese was sitting on the counter with a pile of baked, whole-grain Wheat Thins. And yes, I do realize that’s a contradiction. I mean, first of all, who knows what spray cheese is? Anyone? Nobody?
Look, I’m going to step out on a limb here and say that I don’t believe spray cheese is real cheese. Oh sure, the can says it’s cheese. But seriously, it’s cheese in a can. That can’t possibly be real, people. Really, where else do you see it? I’d be willing to bet that if we all packed up and went to France, where people are very picky about their cheese, we’d be hard pressed to find any cheese in a can, even the really stinky cheeses, which in my personal opinion should be canned or at least wrapped tightly so those of us with very sensitive noses don’t have to smell them.
Yes, Limburger, I’m talking to you.
But back to our cheese in a can. It doesn’t really even taste like cheese. To be honest it tastes like … well I don’t know what it tastes like. Not something found in nature, that’s for sure. And even though the label says “REAL CHEESE!” on it, I’ll say it again. I’m pretty sure it’s not real cheese. Trust me. I’ve eaten cheese and it doesn’t taste like that.
Even worse, spray cheese doesn’t need to be refrigerated. At all. Ever. How scary is that? Look, for all I know that means that the wannabe cheese is stuffed into a can and then radiated or something.
And who thinks of this stuff anyway? I mean, I know that as a society we’re too lazy to grate our own cheese, but to squish it into a dang can? What is that all about? Are our lives so busy that we can’t even slice our own cheese?
And yet I snacked on it. Heck, I got the crackers out and sprayed little designs on them before gleefully scarfing up the wannabe cheese on the cracker. All that was missing was some spray baloney and I apparently would have been in heaven. Or at least I would have been snack happy.
On the other hand, I saved my son. Since I ate all the spray cheese, he was stuck snacking on fruit. Maybe I am a good mom after all.