Cheese Fart

I am with my mother in the grocery store.

But I am uncomfortable in public places.

So I walk to the dairy aisle.

And build a cheese fort.

Cheese fort

I sit in silence for twenty minutes. And hear a familiar pair of heels.

Looking out through a small opening between the pepperjack and gorgonzola, I see my mother’s eyes.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she says.

“I have enemies,” I answer.

“Get out now,” she says.

“And be exposed?” I respond politely. “Hardly feasible.”

The debate is rendered moot by a tall man in a gold tie who tells my mother he can no longer sell cheese that has been stacked on the grocery store floor.

And so we leave.

And on the ride home, my mother doesn’t speak to me.

Because she is focused on the negative.

Instead of the positive.

Like the fact that we are now the proud owners of a carload of cheese.

Carload of cheese