Cuddly Colby

Colby is nice. It puts a smile on my face and makes me blush when I stroke and eat it. It is an orange cheese, orange like fire or orange sorbet or the color that comes when you scrape all the bugs off your windshield and stir them together in a bowl with your finger. It is from England, where the ugliest of the ugly women labor in the fields to make it. First, they scuttle over to a cow whose udders look like they are ready to give birth to a good cheese. Then, as cows hate very ugly women, they put on Nixon masks and squeeze the cows into buckets. Sometimes, the cow is male and shudders with delight. Next, they make the cheese into big churns like butter (but for cheese). Finally, it gets put into big rolls, which they put on the back of their car like a spare tire to drive to market. When they get to the market, everybody is very happy and nice to the women, who they know will give them good prices with enough flattery. The women throw back their cloak hoods, unhunch their backs, and try to act unconcerned as they scratch the hairy mole that dominates their face. Finally, the cheese is shipped to the United States, where people eat and enjoy it, especially with crackers, coca-cola and on sandwiches. The true value of a cheese is the story behind it, and because of that, colby is maybe my favorite cheese.