In Mourning in the Morning

It's currently 2:35 at morning and I am thoroughly depressed. Not because my life is filled with the woes of never sustaining a successful relationship with a male human. Not because my dreams are slowly drifting away from my ambitious grasp as tragically as Mufasa slipped away from Simba. It's because I can no longer drink milk.




WHAT!?!




Sure, your first reaction is, "Why Brie, why don't you just pop a couple of help-me-eat-lactose pills and stop bothering me about your problems?" I have tried this method. Because like you, arrogant stranger, I thought that I was lactose intolerant. This was when I was young and naive.

Letters to Life: Food

Dear Cheese,

I have a confession to make. I’ve been living a lie. I once thought that I loved you. I told everyone about how great you were in and on any meal type I had planned thoughout the day.


My heart would skip a beat when I would read on a menu that you were going to make an appeance on my plate, be it in a pile of shredded wonderment or seemlessly hiding in the main course like a ninja.


But I’m not the only one to blame for this love lost. I have only seen one side of you for the past 19 years - until now.


Sure there have been times as a child when I would step away from my normal daily intake of a block of mild cheddar and journey to the realm of string cheesery. But It always let me down. You let me down. And yet I would try again.