Lucinda’s Refrigerator

I’ve got expired fruit yogurt, two blackened bananas, and a moldy old pizza slice trapped under the crisper drawer. There was this block of cheese. Nice little cheese it was. Classy. Stilton, I think. It was there for, what, three months? She’d occasionally sniff it, scrape off its mold, and nibble a bit. Then she went on some vegan kick, and forgot all about it. I think it’s still in me somewhere…

Lucinda’s Nice Little Cheese

Yes, I’m still here. All covered in mold. I’m actually an everyday, garden-variety cheddar. Thanks for caring, though, and calling me “classy.”

Lucinda’s Snooty iPhone

I wish she’d clean me, once in a while. She’s always eating cheese or cheap, nasty pizzas, and the oil is really messing with my screen. I can barely see out of it!

Lucinda’s Moldy Old Pizza Slice

Hey, who are you calling cheap and nasty, bitch? A pizza’s more important than a stupid iPhone. Can you eat an iPhone? NO! Furthermore, EVERYONE loves cheese, and I’m a CHEESE pizza! Cheese, cheese, glorious CHEESE!! Oh wait, I’m a VEGAN pizza, so I’m not strictly dairy. DAMMIT!

Lucinda’s Slightly Pretentious Dachshund, Camembert

I LOVE CHEESE! Or, as they say in France, J’adore le fromage!

Lucinda’s Fancy Houseplant

If she’s not over-watering me, she’s under-watering me. No wonder I have mealybugs and suffer from malaise. I wish she’d use a moisture-meter, and feed me occasionally. Better still, return me to Madame Brie, that sweet old dear who owns the cheese shop downstairs. I miss her warbling, Edith Piaf-style cheese songs.

Lucinda’s Anthropologie Jeans

I’m not one to “fat shame,” but with those ears, she’s like a gigantic, over-fed mouse to me. Yet I’m expected to stretch myself, to my utmost limits, to be her second skin. Her panties aren’t happy either, wedged between us, forced into her “derriere.” When she discards us at the end of the day, we talk, plot our escape. Back in the factory, I had ambitions. I imagined some rich, popular party girl would take me home. Life would be perfect—and she’d actually fit. All this one does, when she’s not obsessing over her Twitter account, is eat anything cheese. As for her leg hairs—OMG! It’s like hugging a cactus!

Lucinda’s Panties

We HATE her! She’s horrible!

Lucinda’s Really Bad Hangover

YOU THINK YOU’VE GOT PROBLEMS? YOU BUNCH OF WHINERS! Last night she goes to this bar to meet friends. She orders an artisan cheese plate and a glass of sauvignon. And I’m thinking, great! The cheese will line her stomach, and I’ll be only mildly hungover in the morning. Then she orders another glass of wine and then another. By this time, I don’t feel so good. Go easy on the booze, honey! Then what does she do? Downs a beer and a whiskey shot. You should NEVER mix the grain with the grape! Her girlfriends aren’t much better. God knows, how we got home!

Lucinda’s Voice-Activated Smoke Alarm

I shouted “FIRE!” in the wee hours. But was she appreciative? NO! Just screamed about her Really Bad Hangover, called me a fucking vampire harpy, and whacked me with a broom. Although, it may have been a cheese board. It was hard to tell in the dark. Admittedly, I thought I smelt smoke, but it was probably the “aroma” of a Stinking Bishop cheese, drifting up from Madame Brie’s cheese shop. 

Lucinda’s Old-Fashioned Alarm Clock

I thought I smelt cheese! You were whacked by a cheese board! Most mornings are the same. My alarm goes off and she attacks me with it. I’m perpetually concussed and losing time.  

Lucinda’s Slightly Pretentious Dachshund, Camembert

Excusez-moi! Hate to butt in, but it was an Époisses de Bourgogne NOT a Stinking Bishop. I am somewhat an expert in matters of cheese!

Lucinda’s Trashy Romance Novel

WOULD YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT CHEESE!! Last night, she kisses Alfonso, the handsome, cheese-loving brute on my cover. Drunkenly presses me to her lips, and slobbers all over him, before falling into bed! EW!! I call her Stinky, because, according to The Bathroom, she rarely showers. At least my cheese-loving Alfonso, with his fondness for bubble baths, has good hygiene!

Lucinda’s Slightly Pretentious Dachshund, Camembert

The stinkier, the better, I always say! That’s why I like humans. But what do I know? I’m a dog! Personally, I LOVE Lucinda. To quote Shakespeare, she’s “the rankest compound of villainous smell that ever offended nostril.” Or rather, Madame Brie’s most potent cheese! MON DIEU! Sometimes, I’ll look at her, sniff the air, and imagine her bald–fantasizing her head’s an enormous stinkfest of Vieux-Boulogne, ripe for a baguette! Then I’ll start drooling, and wonder: If she died, would I eat her?