Did you know that there's such a thing as Cheese Week? I did not and now feel as though I've been living under a can of processed Cheese-Whiz.
It seemed too good to be true but, alas, when Bon Appétit sent me an email earlier this week with the subject Cheese Week is Here and Here Are the 25 Most Important Cheeses in America, I asked no questions. I simply reveled in the fact that I live in a world that dedicates a full seven days to the glory that is stinky cheese.
When in the face with such conspicuously declared dairy greatness, it seems only natural to rebel against one' own lactose intolerance and proceed to ordering sixty-five dollars (as one does) worth of funky-as-fuck cheese from a store in Brooklyn to gorge yourself on while your husband is out of town next week. It's not that I'm opposed to sharing, though, let me be frank... there are certain things I refuse to share with anyone and an aged, stinky cheese is one of them. You can call me selfish if you want when, in fact, I'm actually being selflessly courteous of my husband because nobody-- and I do mean NOBODY-- needs to be sleeping next to me when the affects of my lactose intolerance and eating all said funky-as-fuck cheeses kicks in.
Just living my best gassy life over here, people.
Just. Living. My. Best. Life.