VIRGINIA HOLLOWAY DOESN’T PAY FOR CHEESE
Virginia clutched the tub of fresh mozzarella close to her chest. The slogan across the lid read, “always fresh and creamy.” Looking around, she spotted a young employee stacking boxes at a nearby table.
“Excuse me,” she called out. The employee kept her back to Virginia and continued to build a display of gluten-free sea salt crackers.
“Excuse me,” she said a tad louder, “I understand they’re having a liquid bath but how long can they survive out of water?”
She tapped the top of the tub twice with her crooked pointer finger.
The Foody Foods employee turned, sternly wiping her hands on the dark green apron. “Ma’am, the mozzarella balls need to stay in the water to retain their moisture.”
The way the employee spoke made Virginia feel small. As if every human should know how to appropriately care for buffalo milk cheese. Virginia tried to stand up straight, but her back wouldn’t allow it. Instead, she waited for the employee to walk off then dumped the milky coloured water onto the white linoleum floor. Then she shoved the two balls of curd into each cup of her brassiere.
“Thanks a million dear,” Virginia said, waving a wrinkled hand in the air, her golden bracelets jangling about. If that employee cared to turn around, she would’ve seen two wet spots emerging on the old woman’s lavender button-down blouse.
It was all very, feminine.
Virginia hated being
