I have two loves in my life: bearded, curly-haired hipsters and cheese. If forced to choose between one and the other, I would pick cheese. After all, we’ve been sleeping together longer. So you can imagine how thrilled I was when I innocently stumbled upon the one place in Toronto that caters to BOTH of these loves. Its name? “Cheese Magic” – a store where skinny, bearded hipsters dole out slabs of Havarti and Gorgonzola at reasonable prices. My Shangri-La.
I became a regular customer immediately, transfixed by the seemingly never-ending parade of babes that this store employed and their limitless knowledge of fromage. Although zeroing in on just one guy was like choosing between double-crème Brie and triple-crème Camembert (the original Sophie’s Choice), I admit that David, an Adrien Grenier look-alike, had a special talent for making milk products materialize in my pants. (Yeah, yeah, ewwwwww, shut up.) After a series of sexually charged transactions, (mostly one-sided) that climaxed in me seductively tonguing the sample slice of ooey gooey Havarti he fed me off his spork, I decided it was time to make a move. But did I lean over the counter and ask for his number? Of course not! I would never risk rejection and subsequent self-imposed banishment from the best cheese store in the city! So I made the go-to move for anyone lacking the balls to talk to someone face-to-face. I sent him a “Missed Connection.” Oh, did I say “Missed Connection?” I meant “Swissed Connection.”
“I saw you at Cheese Magic and thought you were Mozzar-hella cute. I camem-bear it any longer! I’m Kraft single and would like to go parmes-on a date. I’m certain we’ll have a gouda time. You cheddar call me!"
Blammo! My pun-laden “Missed Connection” drew eyeballs and date requests from a number of random guys who habitually peruse the “Missed Connections” section of Craigslist. The system works! But the burning question: did the object of my affections see my note? The answer to that question is YES. Which coincidentally is the exact same answer to the question, “Does he have a gorgeous wife?”
Lucky for me, I didn’t address my ill-fated note to anyone specific, so I can still pretend it was meant for one of his colleagues. And I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the next time I walked by the store, someone had prominently advertised a cheese in the window called “Heidi Gruyere.” Is this a cheese monger’s way of flirting with me? It better Brie!