I really do. If I were playing the Desert Island game and had to pick one food to take with me to live off of for the rest of my life, it would be cheese. Screw the health consequences. Besides, if you’re stranded on a desert island, you probably wouldn’t live that long. There’s always a hostile tribe that lives unbeknownst to you on the other side of the island. And with my luck, they’d be cannibals.
Freud or some other old-school psychologist would probably say that my obsession with cheese is nothing more than the outward expression of my sexual frustration. They would probably say that I love and crave cheese because I’m actually expressing my frustrations over a lack of sex.
I think I just want to eat cheese.
Don’t get me wrong; the sex thing is there as well. Or I should say, the lack of sex thing is there. But sometimes a girl just craves delicious, crumbly, extra-sharp cheddar cheese. Then again, maybe I’m just deluding myself. Maybe it really IS an outward expression of my inner sexual frustration.
But Freud was pretty much a crackpot, wasn’t he? Penis envy and the Oedipus complex and all that. I don’t really think anyone has subconscious urges to kill their father and sleep with their mother.
And yes, I’m eating cheese now. It’s delicious.
