And Then There Was Goat Cheese

Only, no, it was not goat cheese.

I went to dinner tonight at a steak house and didn't order steak. I'm sure I'm going to hear about this from one of my regular readers who doesn't comment (Hi, Dad!) because who in their right mind would go to a steak house and order chicken? And not only was it chicken, it was mediterranean chicken with goat cheese and rose sauce, served with rice pilaf.

So I ordered this chicken and my dining companion (who owns a saddle decked out with 24 karat gold. I'm not making this up. GOLD. PLATED. SADDLE. Hi, Dad!) ordered steak, rare. And my ridiculous chicken creation appeared and I was kind of excited because I have become a fan of goat cheese lately.

And I dug into my glorious creation of chicken to find a taste that I was not familiar with. But that I have tasted before.

It was CREAM CHEESE and oh my Word, if there is anything I detest in this world it is cream cheese. I hate it when there is cream cheese in the fridge, or even cream cheese in my house. If cream cheese touches me, I have a strong emotional reaction and I have to wash whatever part of me that the cream cheese has touched.

And here I was, dining with a dining companion and thinking, I can not be That Girl, the one who flips out and carries on and acts all neurotic all the time. (I try to keep that side of me under wraps. Occasionally.)

So I had to overcome this reaction I was having to the cream cheese and eat it anyways and I THINK I DAMAGED A SMALL PORTION OF MY SOUL.

But I ate it and I survived.

And that's the news I am updating my blog with, that I ate cream cheese and didn't break out in hives.

I know, my life is just too exciting for most people to keep up with.