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The Cheese Incident, His Story by Trey Printer Friendly

Cooking. A whitetrash feast extraordinaire. Browned beef, too much cheddar, a few cans on sale.

In the fridge an item, uppity and out of place, fresh grated parmesean from an unfamiliar store. Where did it come from? Brought over apparently. By whom? Oh, the guy she was fucking a couple of weeks back. I think I'll pass.

You seem moody. Would you feel better if I threw the parmesean away? Yes I would. Did you? Did you want me to? Yes. I threw it away. You did? Yes, I did. Really? Yes. That's so sweet.

Dinner, sleep, the next day.

In the fridge. Parmesean, out of place and fresh grated. Why did you lie to me? I don't know. Why did you lie to me? I thought it would blow over. It didn't. How can I trust you? You can. How can I trust you when you would lie to me about something so small? You can. Why did you lie to me? Because I am a child, because I am selfish, because I want my cheese and eat it too.

It's all so silly, but my self respect demands a fight. I don't want too fight.

Do you understand why I am angry? No. Yes you do... don't you remember her cd that you shattered and threw out my window, the girl I didn't fuck? Yes, but I didn't think this was a big deal. It was, is, will be.

How can we end this. The cheese fight. It feels like a bad sitcom, Seinfeld, King of the Hill, a lackluster episode of Sex in the City...Charlotte being extra neurotic. I can't let things go. I wish I could, but for some reason it just isn't in my nature.

She throws the cheese away. Forlorn and uneaten in a bag of cat shit. What's the point now. Why did she lie? Because, even though it would matter to her, she is too blind to see why it would matter to me.


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