It was a nice gesture, a gift from Cowgirl Creamery off the California coast, one of the most famous places you can get premium cheese.
I had to admit, as delicious as it was the smell almost negated the taste.
"It's certainly strong," I said, not wanting to pass judgement on a thoughtful gift.
"It smells like ass," B-friend replied.
"It's still good," I insisted. "It's supposed to smell that way."
"Well then YOU eat it," he said. From that point forward, it became MY cheese.
The next day I woke up to a rotting smell in the kitchen.
"I thought you threw out the trash," I said to B-friend.
"I did," he said. We both toured the seven-foot-square space noses-first, wondering if we'D missed some trash, or failed to clean salad out of the sink drain, or whether the cat had killed something.
B-friend opened the refrigerator, "Oh my God!" he said. "It's your stinky cheese!"
I had to believe him; as soon as he opened the refrigerator the stench in the room became much sharper.
"Wow," I said, more amazed than disgusted. "That must be some REALLY good cheese. I put the cheese in a Tupperware container.
Continued At
http://www.jorydesjardins.com/pause/2006/06/story_of_a_stub.html 
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