Tuesday, March 9, 2010

I stepped in cheese.

Yes, I have been gone for a long time, but no that is not a euphemism. On Sunday I stepped in cheese. Real, full dairy, animal fatty, melty and sweating on a black topped parking lot in the sun cheese. I think it was pepper jack. If I'd allowed them to lick my shoes as they kept trying to do, my dogs might be able to confirm this, but I'll get to that in a second.

Before the assault by dairy, KJ and I made a plan to enjoy a rare sunny and warm March day. I busted out a short sleeved t-shirt, post-Goth cargo pants (seriously, they have a lace waistband and flared legs. I bought them at Hot Topic and yes, I fully appreciate the irony) and put on my favorite pair of Onitsuka Tigers. KJ and I walked around Old Town, enjoyed a Belgian breakfast and then spent the afternoon hooping in the park. We smiled at dogs, visited a candy store and strolled around town commenting on gardens and architectural elements. *sigh* It was bliss. And then that damned piece of cheese ruined my day, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

Before heading home we stopped at a grocery store to pick up cold meds for KJ (despite the weather, it is still Winter)and a few other items we needed around the house. As we walked back to the car we laughed about the kooky Girl Scouts squealing and hawking calories outside the store and KJ referenced a Chris Kattan joke from some really bad Lorne Michaels feature film (something about CK dressed in a Scout uniform and offering COOK-AYS!). Goofballs on the loose...we almost made a clean getaway, but as I approached the back door of the car to place our purchases on the back seat I felt a squish. Initially I thought it was a wet paper towel dampened by the piles of still melting snow, but when I tried to shake it off, it wouldn't go away. "Must be gum," I thought. Gross, but fairly easy to remove with an ice cube. But the texture was wrong. It squished not so much like wet paper or gum, but more like...dog poop. I lifted my foot and there, caught between the rubbery blue and lime green spikes of my retro climbing shoes were the remains of a partially melted and fully rubberized piece of white cheese.


Seriously. The older I get, the more certain things (the smell of seafood, paper litter on a running trail, melted cheese on my shoe) activate my gag reflex.

I wiped my shoe on the pavement but the offending dairy product continued to cling to my kicks and further embed itself amongst the treads.

"Wipe it off on the ice over there," KJ thoughtfully suggested in between stiffled guffaws. It *was* funny--hell, I was laughing too if only at the sheer ridiculous grossness of stepping in someone's discarded cheese but it really was so so disgusting. Nope, icing it didn't help.AT.ALL.

So I drove us home, careful not to touch anything in my car with the cheese shoe. I could only imagine the way rotting bits of cheese might smell hidden amongst the floor mats on a 90 plus degree Summer day. *shudder*

Safely at home I kicked off my shoe on the front porch, limped around in my one cheeseless shoe, greeting the dogs and gathering supplies to clean my footwear.

Outside all three of the girls were jockeying for space to sniff and get close enough to taste the amazingness that was the cheese shoe. KJ thought it hilarious to allow them to get close enough to attempt a lick and then call them off. Yep. Ha ha . Three bowls of soapy water, one old sponge and five paper towels later my shoe was clean enough to bring into the house. I tried lining it up in the shoe tray by the door to dry but there must have been tiny cheese molecules left in my shoe tread because the girls continued to try to nose my shoe upside down in order to claim their prize (really, what self-respecting dog wouldn't enjoy a little shoe with cheese topping?). Cleaning FAIL. Right now the shoe is drying in the hall closet away from canine noses--drying just enough so I can throw it into the wash and hopefully forget this ever happened.