Today the wife and I decided to head to Pike Place Market for the 5th annual cheese festival. Craploads of cheese, suprisingly sunny weather, craploads of cheese– what’s not to love? Well… a combination of really annoying crowds (the kind that like to walk in front of you then stop to text message their friends) a really LOUSY booth setup that served only to create congestion, and said booths’ proximity to the market’s dumpsters, all this made me say the unthinkable:
“Screw this. At this point, I’d rather not have any damn cheese.”
I know. I’m appalled at myself for saying it, but even more appalled that there could be any scenario at all that would make me say it in the first place. This is just not right. Cheese should not be presented in a fashion that engenders feelings of ill-will. Cheese should not make me angry. Cheese should lift away all feelings of sorrow and pain, leaving only bliss and euphoria. This stupid, stupid debacle of a festival ruined my cheese mood.
Maybe I was just in a weird mood, but I prefer to blame the setup. I sure as hell won’t be able to live with myself if I blamed the cheese.