fake cheese.

I went to watch the oldest blonde boy’s tennis match today in the charming town of Lincoln. On the court next to his, there was a blonde girl wearing a bright blue hat, a red hoody, and yellow shoes. She was at least a foot shorter than everyone else playing, including her opponent. She hardly ever missed and was more impressive than any other player. I couldn’t stop watching her play.

After the games, I said to the boy’s mom, “Wow, that little blonde girl sure is something.”

“Oh, Eliza? Yeah. She’s really incredible.”

What a name. This was another reason to go by the first part of my full name rather than the last part.


I made some money tonight by eating dinner in a fort with cute boys, eating peanut butter swirled in our ice cream, and watching The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. It’s a tough gig I’ve got here.

The boys wanted macaroni and cheese. I admitted to only making it out of a Kraft box and tonight I had to tackle the cheese sauce on my own. It was OK, but once we got our plates out to the fort, the macaroni was cold and it just didn’t taste cheesy enough, like the fake powder. I said, “Gosh guys, I hope this tastes OK. I think it’s lacking.”

And they are such polite boys, they acted like it was best thing ever. “Mmm, oh wow! This is so delicious!”

“Oooh, yeah. Wow. Mmm…”

I saw through it and appreciated their support. 

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