There are certain things in my life that are only kept in check by shame. Mostly fear of sales/service people judging me. I know this is irrational but I just don’t want to have *that particular* awkward encounter. Maybe it’s for the best that I have some shame left in my awkward existence. Enough to keep me from owning 30 cats, but not enough to keep me from posting 30 cat pics on my blog.
I may or may not have been, at one time, addicted to home pregnancy tests. It’s (believe it or not) a common thing among women trying for a baby. But I was never able to go whole hog into the dark underbelly of POAS (pee on a stick) addiction. Because it was way too awkward to walk up to the cashier carrying 17 first response pregnancy tests. No poker face is that strong.
Another form of this life-impeding (or lifesaving?) shame is known (in my mind) as cheese shame. I am certain I am not the only person suffering from cheese shame.
The Cheese Shame Awareness Logo
I love cheese on my food. When the waiter at a restaurant asks “Would you like some freshly grated Romano?”, my answer, without exception, is yes. But once the waiter starts grating and says “Tell me when,” the cheese shame starts. I start thinking “Oh no! It’s been too long! I’m going to use up his whole block of cheese! Must. Say. When.” And I assure him that it’s enough cheese on my pasta primavera. Even though, in my cheese-loving heart of hearts, I wanted more.
I hope that Moses can grow up unashamed of his enthusiasm for cheese. But I also hope he never finds himself at Walgreens buying 17 pregnancy tests.