Hot Stank Cheese
The smell almost destroyed my home
Lactose intolerance. For some it is a mild inconvenience, for others, it is a tragedy. Josh’s intolerance falls somewhere in the middle of the spectrum which means the occasional dairy treat. So, when he suggested that I pick up some cheese to pair with a newly discovered summer sausage, I happily complied. Now, I did not want to waste this limited opportunity on boring cheddar or plain swiss – oh, contraire! I went with an aged asiago and smoked havarti. Believe me, I was quite proud of myself. However, when I revealed my purchases, Josh was less than impressed. When I opened the packages, he responded as if he had been accosted – and from his perspective, I suppose he had. Asiago does not have the most pleasant scent, especially if you are not accustomed to the subtleties of cheese culture. It is described on the interweb as having a fresh, milky, slightly floral smell – really, it smells like the socks of someone who just ran a marathon in August. Several days had passed since initially opening the cheeses. That detail is only relevant because the aroma of asiago does not dull with time.
One afternoon, Josh had stepped into the shower and left a show that he was watching still running on tv. I took up watching the show, which featured 4 Italian men in a setting featuring a significant amount of pizza. We circle back to – dairy is not commonly consumed in my home. I immediately began to crave pizza. Really, the idea of melted cheese is what is most intriguing. Some of you have realized what is about to happen. I am less than proud of the actions that follow.
I melted what was left of the Asiago and Havarti. I did. I melted it in the microwave, on a plate, nothing else with it. And then… I ate the puddle of melted lactose happiness. Every single cheesy, smelly, stretchy, warm bit of it – shamelessly!
But then. I realized that the smell of hot stank cheese was very heavily in the air. But! Like all cooking smells, I thought it would just vanish in a short amount of time. I should also inform anyone reading that I actually have a terrible sense of smell. Josh, however, has the same sense of smell as Ol’ Red from that song by Blake Shelton. So, again, in my naive little brain, I thought the hot feet smell would not be a big deal. Actually, I thought “maybe he won’t notice”.
Josh emerges from the shower looking like a lobster and immediately notices. He begins pacing the house in a towel, frantically looking for something – he is unsure what. I sit silently, watching. Then begins the barrage of questions: “what is that smell?!”, “what happened?!”, “what did you do?!”. I am no longer silent – I have started to giggle and he knows that I have caused the horrendous odor that has permeated our home. He then begins to guess “DID YOU MELT A GI-JOE IN THE MICROWAVE?!”, “IS THERE PARMESAN IN THE VENTS?!” sheer panic in his voice. I am crying. I can’t breathe. I truly want to answer him but the laughter is too overwhelming. He then describes to me, before I can confess my crimes, the torture that has occurred since he last saw me. See, the melted cheese stench had made its way into the cloud of steam within his shower. Having gone into the shower to cleanse his body, he assumed that the odor was coming from him. He described scrubbing his skin raw but the smell was still there. So, he starts sniffing for whatever could be the culprit. He ended up sitting on the floor of the shower in order to reach his feet and smell his toes – none of which smelled of microwave melted cheeses.
As he described the chaos in the unpleasant steam cloud, I began to have intense stomach cramps from laughing. Between gasps for breath, I managed to explain how I caused the offense stench that has now been absorbed into every soft material in the house. The confusion and horror that came across his face was incredible. He was baffled by the idea of eating hot cheese and absolutely furious that it led to the removal of layers of skin. Beyond that, my shame and delight at the entire ordeal was utterly puzzling to him.
It took hours of pumping fresh air in the house, and a few loads of laundry to make the house smell fairly normal again. I will now be ordering pizza for delivery whenever my next craving strikes.
About the Creator
Keep reading
More stories from Abigail Freeman and writers in Humans and other communities.
Gator Hunting
My mother is quite an incredible human – no fear, no regrets. She is full of confidence and power. She does not maintain a nurturing or graceful spirit. When she was diagnosed with cancer, she was at peace with whatever outcome might present itself. She was confident in her spiritual home but willing to fight with everything in her body. However, with her diagnosis, also came a sense of adventure – a need to ‘live like she was dying’. Thank you, Tim McGraw, your wisdom has sparked life into many drab, lifeless souls. Please understand, that for someone who is not gentle or nurturing, a sense of adventure truly becomes a series of accosting your loved ones with reckless behavior and reprimanding any level on wariness. In what appeared to be a sweet, loving, gesture, my mother suggested that my sisters and I join her for a trip to Florida. One weekend of bonding and sharing sweet memories. I was thrilled! We planned the whole trip in advance – my sisters would go to Disney, my mother and I would spend the day shopping and communicating about her life, her wishes, her dreams. She did have one simple request – she would like to go on a gator hunting expedition. I reluctantly agreed… Surely, as tourists, we would be in a fairly controlled environment, right? She purchased tickets for the activity which confirmed my belief that this would be a mild introduction into the life of an alligator – little did I know, we were about to understand the depths of Steve Irwin’s soul. On the day of the escapade, all was as expected. We did shop, talk about our hopes and dreams – I ensured that I understood my mother’s wishes if she were to pass due to the illness. We stopped for lunch at a quaint little sushi restaurant where we were served fresh sushi with KC Masterpiece BBQ sauce – I should have known at this point that the day was not going to be a treasured memory. From lunch, she explained that we were headed to go gator hunting. Whew. This. Is. What. We. Play. For. I was nervous. I expected to arrive at a venue – no. We arrived at the address provided, which was a gas station – really, it was a shed that sold chips because it had not sold gas since the 1980s. Mom has no inhibitions. No red flags. Another car arrives – a 1986 red pinto with a yellow door. The man that steps out is slim, he has sunken cheeks and his movements are a bit disjointed. It would appear that this man has found the secret to happiness. Meth is quite magical. He has a partner, however, the second is not memorable. They motion for us to meet them in the building – my mother sends me alone. Once in the building, the man requests my tickets for the gator hunting. NO. STOP. This is not real. This is not the gator hunting experience. It is. I am now informed that my mother has purchased the experience on Groupon – some things you just cannot bargain shop. We sort out the details of payment and are instructed to follow the shiny sports car to the swamp. As the man enters his vehicle, he most certainly felt cramped, as he did not put his left leg in with him, instead, he rested it out of the car window. We followed the pinto down a dirt road and into a field. Still no concern from my mother. I wish I held her level of confidence. I cannot stop praying. If nothing else, I am confident in my salvation. We park and exit and our guide leads us to a structure of rotted wood and ropes – he calls it a dock. There is an airboat tied to the construction, however, it more resembled a canoe with a large fan. We board the vessel. I am shaking. This contraption is supposed to keep us safe from gators – large, angry, aggressive, gators. We are provided with life jackets but informed that in the event that a gator attacks us, the life jacket will not provide life saving measures. Solid. We push into the water – no going back now. My knuckles are white from gripping the bar in front of me. I look towards my mother. She is smiling – she will be committed to a facility upon our return. I have the proof I need – she is insane. The fan is started and our boat is floating across the water. WE ARE HURTLING THROUGH THE AIR SLIGHTLY ABOVE GATOR INFESTED WATERS… we stop periodically to view an eye, a nostril, a tail, a back poking out of the water. The monsters are everywhere and we can no longer see land. There is no option to swim to safety. Our guide is dying for a hit of something. He can no longer form sentences. I cant breathe. This is actually how I am going to die. I meth addict in Florida is going to dump me in a swamp with gators. After nearly an hour of anticipating my own end, our boat glides back to the dock. We are on land but we are not safe. The guides feel that we were not provided with enough of a hands on experience. They duck behind a tree and reappear with a 6’ gator. He has electrical tape around his mouth but his tail is thrashing. This creature feels the same way about his captors as I do. I am instructed to hold the angry monster, his name is Fluffy – I do not. My mother has never been more disappointed in me. I am convinced now that she is the one that intends to murder me. It’s the perfect crime. I find our car and message my sisters for help. They are not in a position to assist, see, they have just been kicked out of Disney. Bless them. We now have a reason to leave! I gather my mother and thank the guides – they seem disappointed that we will not be joining them for dinner. It was a beautiful drive home as I informed my mother that she would no longer be allowed to make independent decisions.
By Abigail Freeman 3 years ago in Humans
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.