And The Cheese Stands Alone
I’m a grilled cheese sandwich.
No, I swear, I am.
I’m not even a really great grilled cheese sandwich.
Bread? Plain white bleached bread with no pumpernickel seeds or anything exotic on top . . . just plain, plain, plain. Very unexciting.
Butter? Oh well, on a good day, maybe. Some days, a whack of margarine. Most days, commando . . . nothing at all. Is that too much information?
No slice of cheddar, Swiss, Havarti, or anything like that. Just your basic, no-name cheese slice that comes in one of those impossible-to-open, cellophane envelopes. A little texture without taste. Want taste? Look for a ham. Lots of those around.
No sprig of parsley on top, no pickle on the side, no pool of ketchup to dip into, no diagonal slice to make me look pretty on a plate, hell, no plate ...
I’m simple, basic, not too bright, unadorned, but hey, it’s not easy being even a stupid grilled cheese sandwich most days. I take a lot of heat, you see, and some days, when people really grate me, I truly think I’m having a meltdown.
Some people say, “You’re cheesy ...” and they’re right, but people keep egging me on, and if you're not careful, I'll become an omelet.
Some people say, “You think you’re da BIG cheese ...!” What do they mean? Is this yet another attack on my celebrity? What celebrity? I’m just a grilled cheese sandwich ... I’m not Chuck E. Cheese after all.
Some people shout, “Say cheese ...” before they snap that selfie beside me. Say cheese? Geez, carve a happy face emoticon in me then. Better yet, stop the selfie epidemic. It's like folks need a constant reminder that they're still here ... you know in the here and now. Never have I seen so many people afraid that they might have disappeared.
Hey, just by the way, where did the expression, “Cheese it, the cops . . .” come from? I resent the implication that I’m some kind of criminal or guilty of crimes against humanity. I’m just a plain grilled cheese sandwich . . . not scary or dangerous at all.
Mac and cheese? My relationship with Mac is purely platonic. Honest! Sandwich . . . no noodles. Anyway, I’m not about to start messing with the LGBTQ.
Maybe I should be blogging at cheese.com where they have a database of 656 cheeses. That’s a lot more friends than I have here.
Any friends I do have tend to be just as cheesy as me. On a daily basis, I have to deal with Cheez Whiz — some slick and oily impersonator who comes in a tube of sorts — not to mention Cheese Corn, Cheese Sticks, String Cheese, Cheezies . . . it's enough to drive one crackers.
Naaa, I’m just a grilled cheese sandwich. Go ahead. Take a bite out of me. Everyone else does.
I’m a grilled cheese sandwich.
No, I swear, I am.
I’m not even a really great grilled cheese sandwich.
Bread? Plain white bleached bread with no pumpernickel seeds or anything exotic on top . . . just plain, plain, plain. Very unexciting.
Butter? Oh well, on a good day, maybe. Some days, a whack of margarine. Most days, commando . . . nothing at all. Is that too much information?
No slice of cheddar, Swiss, Havarti, or anything like that. Just your basic, no-name cheese slice that comes in one of those impossible-to-open, cellophane envelopes. A little texture without taste. Want taste? Look for a ham. Lots of those around.
No sprig of parsley on top, no pickle on the side, no pool of ketchup to dip into, no diagonal slice to make me look pretty on a plate, hell, no plate ...
I’m simple, basic, not too bright, unadorned, but hey, it’s not easy being even a stupid grilled cheese sandwich most days. I take a lot of heat, you see, and some days, when people really grate me, I truly think I’m having a meltdown.
Some people say, “You’re cheesy ...” and they’re right, but people keep egging me on, and if you're not careful, I'll become an omelet.
Some people say, “You think you’re da BIG cheese ...!” What do they mean? Is this yet another attack on my celebrity? What celebrity? I’m just a grilled cheese sandwich ... I’m not Chuck E. Cheese after all.
Some people shout, “Say cheese ...” before they snap that selfie beside me. Say cheese? Geez, carve a happy face emoticon in me then. Better yet, stop the selfie epidemic. It's like folks need a constant reminder that they're still here ... you know in the here and now. Never have I seen so many people afraid that they might have disappeared.
Hey, just by the way, where did the expression, “Cheese it, the cops . . .” come from? I resent the implication that I’m some kind of criminal or guilty of crimes against humanity. I’m just a plain grilled cheese sandwich . . . not scary or dangerous at all.
Mac and cheese? My relationship with Mac is purely platonic. Honest! Sandwich . . . no noodles. Anyway, I’m not about to start messing with the LGBTQ.
Maybe I should be blogging at cheese.com where they have a database of 656 cheeses. That’s a lot more friends than I have here.
Any friends I do have tend to be just as cheesy as me. On a daily basis, I have to deal with Cheez Whiz — some slick and oily impersonator who comes in a tube of sorts — not to mention Cheese Corn, Cheese Sticks, String Cheese, Cheezies . . . it's enough to drive one crackers.
Naaa, I’m just a grilled cheese sandwich. Go ahead. Take a bite out of me. Everyone else does.
