Another day, another commute. This time, my travels were blocked by a huge backup getting onto the dreaded bridge. Once I got across, I discovered that the road crew was filling the new potholes. Perhaps they read my blog last night. So I had to take back all my grumbling and cursing, as the reason for the delay was a good one.

Unfortunately, during that extra time in my car, I caught a particularly alarming commercial on the radio. First, a confession: my life was so sheltered when I was growing up that I can honestlly say that I never had Cheese Whiz (or however you spell it). My mother, worried about my health and my sister's, ensured that we would forever be enviable of anyone who was "normal" by eliminating white bread (we had whole wheat), plain peanut butter (we had crunchy, organic), and any sort of cheese by-product (we just didn't have it). I still remember the day when a neighbour kid showed up at our house to catch a ride to school, eating her Cheese Whiz on toast while waiting for us. It was so gross that I wasn't even jealous. I was jealous of kids who ate crappy white bread (Wonder), and smooth, luxurious peanut butter. Everything we ate not only had to be good for us, it had to be obviously good for us. Which meant that it was really weird.

The irony is that my mother grew up on a farm, and I'm still hearing all the stories about how she was envious of all her friends because they had normal, bought food, whereas all her family's food was homemade. It sounds like there were several years when she was horribly difficult because all she wanted was to eat bought bread, or bought cookies, or (gross) wieners. Her family didn't eat anything unless they grew it themselves. This included the meat, which was kept in a meat locker in "downtown" Cloverdale. In the morning, before she left for school, her mother would ask her (not her brothers because they were too unreliable or off shooting the water tower) to stop by the meat locker for a bit of cow. (Sorry Meladuck for the meat talk.) The irony of this errand is that my mother apparently never was nor is she now much of a carnivore, but because she was reasonably responsible, she got the job. What a strange concept that is for us now. I don't think anyone would walk down the sidewalk carrying some meat for fear of being mugged by a ravenous dog or a feisty crow.

I just realized that this has gotten way off topic. Back to oozy "cheese" product. When my sister got married, her husband was very much into the "squeeze cheese". Apparently, his mother didn't love him enough to protect him from the evil orange goo. However, she did pour his cereal into a bowl every night and cover it with cling film. I'm not sure that's love or that she suspected of him certain level of incompetence. Either way, it's lame.

Once again, I'm going to try to rein this in. So there was a commercial on the radio advertising Cheese Whiz. According to this commercial, the special apparently pertains to several varietes. It's a good thing I was stopped in traffic because I probably would have driven into someone trying to figure out what the varieties are. When the nausea hit, I realized that I didn't want to know or think about the squeeze cheese varities. One is enough. No, it is more than enough.

Now I'm wondering how fantastic this deal is on Cheese Whiz? If it's cheap enough, perhaps the highways department should consider using it to fill the potholes on the bridge. It couldn't be any worse than what they're already using, and think about how many lives could be saved.