Jackson got a Fresh Market, and we inspected it yesterday. I’d gotten spoiled by all the Whole Foods locations in Atlanta, and lamented not having access to sashimi grade fish, a bakery with real buttercream, European Butter, fresh mozz, etc.
I wandered around in sensory overload, numbed by Easter Egg radishes, blown away that they, too, thought there were greens other than Collards fit for eating.
Soon, we’d walked past the bakery and gelato, and Matthew (with an understated flourish) gestured towards the cheese section. To be fair, our local Kroger has a surprisingly kick-ass cheese station, but there are a few things pointedly missing from their assortment.
That’s when I saw it. Directly behind my dear husband’s hand, there was a huge wheel with a particularly distinctive font decorating its rind.
I could lie and say I was excited.
To be entirely honest, I jumped up and down, flapped my hands and squawked in such an unseemly fashion, people must have thought Matthew proposed to me with a gigantic wheel of cheese. Lottery Jackpot winners comport themselves with more dignity and grace. Matthew, bless him, did not suddenly pretend I was some cheese-fetishizing maniac stranger.
When I am gone from this world, I hope I am remembered as the girl who’d turn somersaults for a fine wheel of cheese.