Dear Cheese

Dear Cheese Stick,

I'm sorry you're forced to sit there in front of me, looking all delicious in your tidy little clear plastic wrapping-the soft white and warm, pleasant orange melding together in fantastic Colby Jack-ness. It's just, well, I have a job, you know? It's not that I don't want you-hell, you know I positively drool over those sharp little curves that make up that luscious rectangle that is you-but I have to make enough money to support both of us, and it would look really bad if they graded one of my calls and heard me...you know...eating. You're still my cheesy little goodness, it's just a bad time for me right now. I don't know...maybe I should have left you in the fridge at home-you had family there, ya know? The half block of Cheddar, the shredded Mexican blend (even though he was kind of an asshole sometimes), your other fellow cheese stick brethren-yeah, it wasn't perfect, but at least you had each other, right? You had a support group-you weren't just laying there, getting all room-temperature and soft in your packaging. You deserve better than that. Don't worry, we'll be together soon, I'll take you somewhere nice-like the break room-you'd like that, right? Yeah, the break room, where I'll eat you. And we'll finally be happy together.

Love,
Me