Hell Hath No Fury like Half a Stale Cheesie

My son was just over a year old when his real passion for cheesies became full blown.

Those orange, crunchy, messy, delicious little snacks that just about every child in america has eaten by the age of 2.

He loved those things. (still does!) After a long day of running circles around the apartment and wearing daddy out, the time had come to call in the elite task force of cheesies to occupy him so I could relax a moment.



I laid a few cheesies on the floor and immediately he has one in each hand and his face is the color of a basketball. I use this opportunity to use the bathroom in peace and catch a cig under the exhaust fan.

I look back down just in time to find the little booger pulling half a cheesie from under the edge of the fridge and slowly bringing it to his mouth. My instant reaction: LORD KNOWS HOW LONG THAT HAS BEEN DOWN THERE!!!

I snatch the above mentioned cheesie from his hand and in a cute voice say “Ewww, thats nassy!”. And then it hit me: My sons hand comes in swift contact with my leg, his eyes fill up with tears, and the crying commences.

In great desperation to calm him down I drop this cheesie back on the floor to pick him up. Before I can get my hands in his armpits, the cheesie is in his mouth, he is quiet and content.

That is when I learned one of parenthoods greatest lessons: Hell hath no fury like half a stale cheesie.