I really like cream cheese.
I mean I REALLY like cream cheese.
If you ask me, Mr. Philadelphia was some kind of genius. Cream cheese makes everything it touches edible. Have you ever rolled a chunk of cream cheese up inside a circle of bologna? It practically creates a party in your mouth. If you shove cream cheese into a celery ditch, you don't even realize you are consuming a string infested vegetable. Smeared generously on a rice cake (aka: styrofoam) it completely recreates the entire culinary experience. And don't even get me started on the subject of cream cheese on butter flavored crackers.
Add some sugar and you have a cheesecake. A little garlic and seasoning and you have a vegetable dip.
Yep, in my book cream cheese is practically the perfect food.
But there is a little problem with cream cheese. It doesn't pass through the digestive system and drench the body with nutrients like leafy green vegetables or blueberries or steel cut oats. In fact, it takes an entirely different trip altogether. It stays in cream cheese form and takes the express route straight to the fat cells in the belly, in the arms, and in my case - the head. Those fat cells accept it with wide open hungry mouths and inflate like ecstatically happy cream cheese filled hot air balloons.
We have developed what is essentially a cream cheese emergency at my house. I would even say we have a crisis. While most people are literally made of mostly water, in my case.....well, I might as well have "Philadelphia" tattooed on my backside. If I stand in the right light, you will see that I am covered, not in cellulite, but in cream cheese bricks.
And as for Seth — he has his own "Klondike" bar tattoo.