The case of the missing cheddar

We can't find the cheese.

It's not in, behind, or under the fridge. It's not in the microwave or blender. We haven't found it in a drawer, under a table or in my yarn collection.

"Is it this cheese?" Phillip asks, holding up an unopened Vermont extra sharp.

"No, it's the one we opened last night, remember?" I respond.

But he doesn't remember eating cheese. He barely remembers dinner. He was about to get a migraine so drank a couple quarts of water and went to bed early.

I had a second glass of wine while talking to my bosom friend.

Therefore we're both prime suspects for misplacing the cheese.

If it was Limburger - even Brie - we would have found it by now.

We'll keep you posted.

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