I love cheese. I am a bit of a Wallace. But have you noticed how rubbery some cheese is these days?
“Daddy,” Miss3 called out. “I drop my cheese!”
I was home for a quick lunch, which always involves catching up on blog activity, like comments and emails, and, if I find something which amuses me, putting up a link or two on Facebook.
And, of course, interacting with my kids. Today that involved giving my youngest child a cheese slice and asking her if she could look in the rooms for our two cats, Minion and Angel. As I’d passed Minion in the yard on my way in I figured this would give me the five minutes I needed alone with my laptop.
I figured wrong.
“Well, pick it up,” I suggested, not looking away from my screen.
“I can’t,” she called back.
“It’s easy,” I told her. “Just use your fingers.”
“I can’t reach it.”
“Bend at the knees.”
“Daddy, I need you.”
This clearly wasn’t going to go away, so I reluctantly tore myself away from my laptop and tottled to the hallway where she was waiting.
I looked around.
I couldn’t see the cheese slice anywhere.
“Where did you drop it?” I asked her.
“There,” she said.
She was pointing up.
Above my head.
As I can only assume it bounced I think I should be insisting on a better quality cheese for the kids from now on. But not a hard cheese like Cheddar – I don’t want holes in the walls.