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*TRIGGER WARNING SEXUAL ASSAULT*

 

   I. "Emilee Rose” my grandmother said to my three year old self “Try this macaroni and cheese”. That was her mistake. When the cheesy noodle hit my tongue it flooded my taste buds with bitter sensations. I was chewing on rotted cream. Like licking the side of a waterpark tube. The zest and coarseness, it was so so gross. I spit it out onto the Sesame Street placemat in front of me. This is how I’ve always felt about cheese. 

 

   II. Pizza is ok. Because pizza cheese is cooked on and mixed with sweet savory tomato sauce that perfectly balances out the unexplainable grossness of the slobbery slapped on cheese. When I go through the dunkin drive through I get eye rolls from the people behind me because the lady at the window can’t just hand me a bag with a designated sandwich no. She has to take the preservative filled egg and separate the plasticy tasting slab of american and put it to the side. I bet they think it’s because of an allergy. Little do they know I’m just picky. 

   III. I dated this guy who loved to eat. Burgers and fries and all the foods of the American dream. I looked at him in disbelief as he laid out different blocks of cheese samples on his kitchen counter. Mozzarella, cheddar, swiss, The scent wasn’t as bad as I remembered. 

                  “Here try all of these and tell me which one you like” 

                 “I told you I don’t like cheese” 

                “Just try it for me”

                 So I slip the block of mozzarella across my tongue and that’s all it takes for that bitter sting to return. I gag and he laughs. He             thinks it’s funny. 

 

   IV. My friend told me about her second date with a guy I wanted but am now so glad I never had. They started making out in his jeep and he slid his hand in between her thighs. She was a typical “good girl,” cross around her neck, new highlights made in her bible every night. And there’s something so special, like worth winning a trophy if you get the good girl to go a little farther. She pushed his hand away but pulled him in closer, tasting his sweet tomato-ey sauce tongue and he reached for where her leggings met her lower stomach again. She told me the annoyance grew tiresome, and eventually she didn’t fight the taste. 

 

   V. Promising Young Women is a movie in which the main character fixates on revenge after the rape and subsequent death of her best friend. The culture of nightlife is called into question as well as the sanity and respectability of women who’ve been victimized. The movie’s been well received by critics but berated for not incorporating a more Kill Bill esc revenge arc where skin gets grated, blood juices out like crushed tomatoes, and predator brains scatter the floor. I think they forget that revenge often doesn’t overlap with reality. 

 

   VI. Intoxication is a recipe for relief. From screaming not at all in sync with the radio to drowsy dimmed lights as you fall to the floor. Decisions get made, inhibitions are ignored. My sophomore year I fell in and out of the days. Eating half a bag of sour patch kids, which I would never have eaten sober. I still never ate cheese though. Even after the mother of a 19-year old bad influence served a bowl of cheesy pasta. I didn’t eat that night. I didn’t eat a lot of nights that year. 

 

   VII. Cheezits, goldfish, cheddar popcorn, cheese curls, dortios. I love them all. They’re fake as the love I witness on TV. Filled with artificial, empty, powerdy calories. Those who I explain it to say I can’t pick and choose. Beggars can’t be choosers right? You either accept the cheese that’s in front of you or you don’t eat at all. To this day I still wonder what I would choose.