Curses, Foiled Again!

I have been dealt another relocation food-blow. Readers may be familiar with my woe at not being able to find a Red Vine anywhere in the Triangle–Twizzler, yes, but Twizzler is to licorice as an apple-scented candle is to apples.

The other evening, I was struck with a sudden, powerful longing for a hit of Borden cheese…food…stuff. This is not cheese. Even “food” can only be loosely applied. It is a tiny foil wrapped cube with a laughing cow* on it, containing a vaguely tangy processed soft thing of no redeeming nutritive value. It is to cheese as Twizzler is to licorice. Nevertheless, if you take it as its own peculiar entity, rather than a faux cheese, it’s delightful, in much the same way that, say, grape jolly ranchers are delightful, while not being very much like grapes.

James, who loves me more than I deserve, scoured the stores for this noxious treat, and found nothing. He checked every cold case, every specialty cheese island, and came up empty-handed. He slunk home and reported that I had, once more, been foiled by moving across the country. They had the little waxed mini-cheeses (which do not begin to compare) but not The Stuff.

I have independantly confirmed that no store near our house possesses the tiny foil cow of goodness.

I am attempting not to panic. Sure I cannot be out Red Vines, AND Haribo Gummi-Cola, AND the good brand of canned corn, AND the small noxious cow. A merciful cosmos could not allow such a travesty.

I beg of you, O local friends! Know ye were I might locate any of these? Or am I screwed until Anthrocon, when I will stock up in Philly, subsisting on Red Vines and tiny foiled cheesy things, until I collapse on the second day from non-food-exhaustion?

*THE SAME COW as the Elmer’s glue label. Discuss.

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