Some moms from the homeschool group and I have planned a one-night sleepover in the month of August. It will be a chance to sit up very late and use bad language without having to worry about the hovering presence of the ever-present Little Pitchers.
On Tuesday, I was sitting with Kayte and Katie while the 4-H ribbons were being handed out. Katie mentioned that our friend Bridget had sent out an email suggesting that we coordinate our Snack Efforts. Because, you know, it would be a terrible shame if everyone showed up with a bottle of wine and there was no beef jerky. Whatever would we do?
Kayte mentioned her intent to bring a bottle of wine and some "good cheese." Okay, I said. If you want someone to eat cheese, I'm your girl. What kind of cheese?
Good cheese, Kayte emphasized, while Katie and I looked at her, bemused.
"You mean, like, not Velveeta, right?" I asked.
"Oh, no," she said, looking shocked. "Never Velveeta. I'm talking about that crap from Kraft that comes in blocks."
Katie and I traded a look.
"Um, Kayte?" I ventured. "I thought that was the good cheese."
"From Kraft?" she said incredulously, her eyes wide.
"Yeah," said Katie.
"Because at our house," I offered, "that is the good cheese. The kind we eat when we have a brand new box of Chicken in a Biscuit crackers. We screw the top off that bottle of champagne and ennnnnjoooooooooy..."
To her credit, Kayte didn't vomit in her purse. But she kind of looked like she wanted to. I'm afraid I have ruined myself in her eyes. Forever now, I will be to her the Person Who Eats Crap Cheese.
It's not that I don't know that other cheese exists. I love brie, especially in a grilled cheese sandwich with a little sharp cheddar. But come on. Brie is something like $7.00 for four puny ounces. Besides, you can't buy it at ALDI. So I make my grilled cheese sandwiches with slices of Deluxe American cheese, not even the Kraft kind, but a knock-off brand that designed their packaging to make you feel like you were getting the good stuff. Good ol' pasteurized processed American cheese. Mmmm-mmmm.
So on this moms' overnight, I'm starting to feel nervous that something is going to bust loose inside me and I'm going to show up with a bag of pork rinds and a bottle of Boone's Farm strawberry wine, or maybe a bottle of Mogen David - the kind made from Concord grapes that tastes like the vineyard might be next to a Quick-Lube shop. Or maybe a box of saltines and a jar of Armour potted meat and some Holland House cooking sherry.
I never should have stopped watching Martha Stewart.
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