I've lost my cheese.
Not metaphorically. Don't worry, I didn't spend my forty day blog fast reading self-improvement books and drawing grim realizations about the state of my existence. (I did that for my whole first decade of adulthood; that would hardly be worth blogging about.)
No, I've literally lost my cheese. Steve went grocery shopping Saturday. Among other wonderful items, he brought home a half-pound chunk of mild cheddar. We enjoyed several slices, then I wrapped it up and put it into our (relatively small) refrigerator. Now it's gone.
I was really excited about that cheese. You see, in addition to fasting from blogging, I also fasted from lunch over the 40 Days of Faith. So yesterday the first day in a LONG time where, when the clock struck noon and my tummy grumbled, I could run to the fridge and partake of some lunchtime happiness. And if you know me at all, you understand that cheese is a key component of my lunchtime happiness. But there was no cheese. I checked every shelf, every drawer. I looked on top of the fridge, through all the cupboards, and even around the rest of the house in case I'd wandered off to do something in the middle of taking the cheese from the cutting board to the fridge. Nothing.
My husband came home and, detective that he is, immediately had a theory. Barely able to contain his laughter, he asked if I might have "accidentally" eaten the cheese and then forgotten about it. I stared at him, horrified. Partly because he knows me so well, partly because I was pretty sure that's not what happened. "Even I, at my cheesiest," I told him, trying to sound indignant, "Could not accidentally eat a HALF POUND of cheese and not remember!"
Still, we have no idea what happened. Our only viable theory is that perhaps THAT DOG, in a surge of Easter inspiration, taught her eleven year-old self to open the refrigerator door, then pushed a chair up to the upper drawer where we keep sandwich items, opened said drawer to extract the cheese, then consumed it whole, leaving no evidence of her adventures. I believe in miracles, but that seems a bit unlikely (I guess we'll know if a one gallon zip-lock freezer bag emerges from her on one of our walks this week).
In the meantime, I'm facing another lunch today without my cheese. If you know where my cheese is - if you're holding it ransom, knowing how much it means to me - contact me. Make your demands known! Just please return my cheese!