So, this happened.

I am addicted to Tillamook Sharp Cheddar singles. We always have some. Two of those on potato bread and I’m good to go. It’s a one-handed lunch. Know what I’m saying? Convenience food, comfort food, good with beer OR wine food.

Just like when I was a kid with Kraft singles, I often take one to bed. Just like when I was a kid I fold it in half, then in half again making 4 bite-sized pieces. Each one the perfect size to just overfill a round Ritz cracker or slice of pepperoni or something. Great bed food. No crumbs, no ants, you don’t even need a napkin.

One morning, not too long ago we awaken and are having coffee and I lean over to reach the cookies and Wakitu says, “What’s this?” and she peels one of those perfect squares of cheddar deliciousness off my ass.

I look her square in the eye, without blinking, and in a tone that suggests she must have been in a coma all this time and deadpan, “Bed Cheese.” There is a blink of time and we both crack up for like 5 minutes, I couldn’t hold a straight face. So, needless to say, henceforth and forever, our favorite single-slice cheese snack we now call “bed cheese.” This is our life now. “I’m at the store. How we doin’ on bed cheese?”

“We need bed cheese sammies for the road.”

“WHAT!?”
“I said, DO YOU HAVE THE BED CHEESE IN THERE?”

I certainly hope that this information doesn’t affect you good folks in any way, shape or form the next time you are enjoying your favorite cheesy single snack.