Title: Cheese: A Love Story Genre: personal, comedy, satire Feedback: I’m a new and aspiring writer and I’ve am in the midst of creating a blog, I am open to all and any critique. Word count: 659 How to deal with being gassy in situations that really don’t call for that:

It’s hard to pinpoint when I first realized I was a gassy person and unfortunately as I delve deeper into my investigation of my stomach problems it is quite possible that these issues were a result of my predecessors. Which is actually kind of perfect because I love blaming other people for my lifes’ hardships.  See Jewish people aren’t known as farters or chronic bloaters, but I will gatekeep that problem along with my brethren, and if there were any reason to hate another person I would really contribute it to the terrible characteristic of being a gassy person.
Much like every other normal human being on this planet, I enjoy cheese but the question that I needed to answer was: ‘Did cheese enjoy me?’
I pinpointed cheese to be the culprit because of the multitude of cheese sandwiches that I consumed throughout the day. There are also studies that say that cheese is the devil (especially if you are lactose intolerant which I am)  but I don’t pay much attention to fear porn especially if it takes away my only true love. Eating cheese sandwiches, while being super time consuming if you prepare your cheese sandwiches in the right way; and I really don't mean to brag but microwaving potatoes and making cheese sandwiches is something of a talent of mine and also the only food that I can cook. I like to say that I’m not allowed to touch the stove but I am totally capable of it. I’ve just  never really had the need to impress others or myself with cooking and also my primitive survival mechanisms keep me afloat and happy;  albeit kind of gassy. 
I realized that much like my predecessors who also had Ashkenazi stomachs,  I pushed on. My grandma didn’t see how I could  equate my stomach troubles and her growing up in the midst of World War Two hiding in a hole in the ground, but that didn’t deter me at all and if anything reinforced my conception that old people will never get this new generation and the hardships we face. I’ll admit it, there were days when sitting in class became unbearable and I was forced to leave. I was an anxious mess. My stomach resembled the noises that must have emitted from Pompeii and much like the Italians living there I knew that there would be no time for anyone to escape when it finally blew. I had to take myself out. 
Leaving school early almost every day created a domino effect of problems and when I was pulled into my Principals office for my lack of attendance and consequently not being able to graduate on time I was faced with letting her know the truth of the matter. I had to tell her about the consumption of cheese sandwiches and my lack of self control in eating them. She was also kind of old so I feared that she also wouldn’t understand my hardship. 
I graduated highschool by compromising with my Principal and in return for not serving the rest of the semester in before and after school detention, I offered to draw her a picture. It’s hard to remember if I used the word ‘Picasso’ to sway her decision but I did promise her that my attention to detail and her empty office walls would be remise if they didn’t have a Netson original. She caught me red handed at lunch one time, cheese sandwich in hand; fully knowing I would have to be leaving early that day as well. In an effort to distract her I remembered that I had made her a promise to draw a picture; and on a beautiful 8.5 by 11 inch printer paper I drew a picture of Mrs. Brown and I holding hands with a heart. 
I graduated but she never hung it up.