So last Christmas (yes, the one that was 362 days ago), my cousin got us a gift certificate to this unbelievable cheese shop. All year long we kept talking about how we really should spend it before it expired, and finally, about two weeks ago, we did. We spent the better part of a Saturday letting the shop staff shower us with samples and detailed descriptions of flavor. And we even managed to actually spend the thing. And then some. So we came home with two fancy cheeses, a quarter pound of salami, some fancy chocolates, and a stout called Lump of Coal for my brother. He doesn't really acknowledge Christmas, and rather enjoys a good stout, so this seemed appropriate. We ate the cheeses in tiny amounts, wondering how we'd ever go back to standard grocery-issue cheddar.
And then, the other day, I was rooting around under the sink looking for my neglected SIGG water bottle. When I extracted it from the mass of recyclables I was surprised to find it rattling. I held it over the counter and gave it a little shake, which produced two dried out pieces of toast crust and, yes, a couple of small cheese rind chunks.
They say that when there's one mouse around, there are more, but I decided not to traffic in this sort of defeatist thinking. We had just the one, and he'd likely go find another cupboard to haunt once I got rid of the trash bag I'd made the mistake of stowing REALLY GOOD CHEESE in. Then a few days later I opened the silverware drawer and found several dozen telltale... well, let's just call them turds. That, of course, was the day before our solstice party. You know, the one that happens only once a year? The one that's the only party I can be cajoled into having? Great timing, mouse. As though hostessing wasn't undesirable enough as it is.
To Be Continued...