String Cheese Stresses Me Out

Here's a surprise for you.

String cheese... stresses me the F out.

I can't deal with it.

I hate eating it and ... for the love of everything that is good and holy... I love cheese...

I think that if you were to take a cross section of my body, you would find a layer of cheese somewhere in my person.

When I was in Maine, our vacation partners offered me some string cheese and I looked at it with dread.

I didn't tell them, but I was scared of the package.

I took it anyway...because... afterall, it was cheese!

I took it downstairs and timidly opened the package.

The smell of glorious cheese filled the air and I felt my stomach tighten up in excitement.

Then... my big nubby fingers ruined it all and tried to pull the cheese apart.

"CRAP!" I exclaimed. "I hate my stupid fingers."

I couldn't get it to peel and all of my old deep seeded hatred for string cheese came to the forefront.

Three minutes later after holding my breath longer than David Blaine's peasant attempts in a recent special, I bit the top off of it and gave up.

Too much stress... just too much stress.