Cheese Lover

I was meeting my friend for an early morning class at the YMCA a couple weeks ago.  I dragged my sorry butt out of bed while it was still night outside and drove to the gym with one eye sleeping and the other eye reading a spy novel.  My friend, however, did not show up.  Consequently, we are no longer friends.  I don’t put up with that kind of behavior.

It was a small class and clearly I was not one of the regulars because everyone looked at me like I had an arm growing from my forehead when I walked in.  The regulars had already claimed their regular spots and were setting up their regular equipment.  I took the only open space in the back corner of the room and didn’t get a green resistance band because the regulars had absconded with all of them already.  I felt out of place.  Especially since I was the only one in the room with an arm growing from my forehead.

The instructor scanned the crowd and said, “We have an odd number today,” (referring to me), “does anyone mind not having a partner?”  Silence eclipsed the room and everyone turned to look at me, burning my skin with their stares, and waiting for me to volunteer to be the odd-man out.  I felt my face getting hot with embarrassment so I muttered, “I don’t mind being alone.”  The room sighed collectively.  I felt like it was the first day of school and I was the weird new kid.

Did you ever play The Farmer in the Dell?  We seemed to play it a lot when I was in elementary school.  I always longed to be chosen as the Wife.  I would take Child as an alternative, but I really just wanted to be the Wife.  I never was.  In fact, I was never a Child, the Dog, the Cat, or even the Mouse.  I was always the Cheese. Always.  Even if we played two or three rounds in a row, I was chosen for the Cheese.  I don’t know what drew my classmates to select me for that role, but I hated it.  I would stand in the middle of the circle like a doofus while everyone sang, “The cheese stands alone, the cheese stands alone, heigh-ho, the Derry-o, the cheese stands alone.”  I wanted to be in the circle dancing with my farmer and our lovely child, but instead I just stood there unaccompanied.  Naturally, I despised that game.

My life has come full circle.  I was the cheese again at the YMCA.  I was all alone while everyone stared at me and I was completely transported to the lunchroom at Kinghorn Elementary playing The Farmer in the Dell.  Having a partner during the workout turned out to be a luxury, not a necessity, but still – I felt like a weirdo.  Needless to say,  I won’t be attending that class again.  (The instructor was chubby anyway; clearly the class doesn’t work.)

Since I am an adult now and this appears to be my identity, I will embrace my inner-cheese.  If I have to finally admit that I will always be the cheese, I would at least like to be sophisticated like Brie or Camembert.

It seems only fair.