[ WP ] Write a melodramatic story about the most mundane thing you can think of .

Under the supermarket ’ s fluorescent lights I weighed my choices. Around me housewives and harried husbands browsed the aisles picking out needed groceries. The sounds of hushed conversations and squeaky wheels underlined the song on the radio I couldn ’ t quite place. I glanced around at the other shoppers. Their carts steadily filled and some of them were smiling, as if they were enjoying the tedium of grocery shopping. They didn ’ t know my plight. None of them knew my plight. Staring in front of me, hanging out from one of those plastic poles that jut out in the refrigerated aisles was a bag of shredded mild cheddar cheese. 
 
 I sighed at the bag. The sigh reverberated down to my toes. 
 
 All my life I had taken the bag of mild cheddar cheese, thrown it into the red plastic hand cart, and walked away. I dutifully used every shred of that cheese on salads, in omelets, and piled in quesadillas. There was a section of my refrigerator stained blue from constant contact with the cheese ’ s packaging over the years. 
 
 It mocked me from its place, hanging like a convict from a noose. I reached out and poked it, it swayed back and forth like a pendulum ticking away each second of our finite lives. 
 
 The song on the grocery store sound system changed to “ Time after Time ” by Cyndi Lauper. I sighed. What a fucking stupid song. 
 
 Around the mild cheddar cheese, spread out across the bottom in tantalizing piles and hanging in exotic looking plastic bags, were dozens of other cheese options. Sixty-three other options to be precise. One day, a few grocery store trips ago, I had deigned to count all of them. I looked carefully at each one ’ s label reading the various, unexpected varieties. Jalapeño Gouda. Truffle Sharp Cheddar. Brie. Their names seemed exotic. Their packaging intriguing, some of them even came with that strange wax casing that I saw on television whenever a cheese plate happened to come on screen. I didn ’ t take any of those cheeses though. I stared at the mild cheddar cheese. Every single time, no matter how much I thought about changing that habit, I found myself reaching out for that bag with the cartoon cow on the front and throwing it in my cart as guilty as a teenager buying a box of condoms. 
 
 Today would be different though. Today would be the day I changed that. I wanted to buy a different cheese and this time I was going to do it. 
 
 “ If you ’ re lost you can look and you will find me, Time after time. ” 
 
 The mild cheddar cheese taunted me. It knew I wouldn ’ t abandon it. It knew I wouldn ’ t leave the store without it securely in my hand cart. There were sixty-two other cheeses to choose from, but the mild cheddar cheese had what none of the other exotic gourmet varieties did: safety. 
 
 When I stopped to think logically about the other cheeses I realized the truth. How good would a breakfast burrito be with Brie cheese? What kind of monstrosity would result if I put some of that chocolate infused truffle cheese into an omelet. Sure the pepper-jack or jalapeno options might work, but what about the condiments? Wouldn ’ t it be too spicy to add hot sauce? Mild cheddar cheese was just that. It was mild. It didn ’ t ask for too much. It didn ’ t overpower. It played its part in the dish and didn ’ t bother anyone else. Wasn ’ t that all I could ask for from my cheese? 
 
 Wasn ’ t that all she could ask of me? 
 
 I shook my head to chase away the encroaching memories, and subconsciously rubbed my bare ring finger. I could be more than mild cheddar cheese, I thought to myself. 
 
 “ If you fall I will catch you, I ’ ll be waiting, Time after time. ” 
 
 I glanced around and pulled a small foil wrapped wheel of Brie from the bottom shelf. I turned it over in my hand, and wondered what I could possibly use it for. 
 
 Next to me someone cleared their throat. I turned with a start to see a woman standing next to me. 
 
 She was wearing a heavy black coat that was dusted in a fine layer of snow. Her cheeks were red and her blonde hair was cut short. She smiled at me, and I felt my heart jump a little. She reached down and grabbed a small container of crumbling ricotta cheese. She put it in her cart, smiled, and walked away. 
 
 She probably knew I was a fraud. She was probably thinking, `` what ’ s that boring guy planning to do with brie?'' 
 
 Embarrassed I put it back in the pile. I knew what worked for me and that would have to be good enough. 
 
 “ If you fall I will catch you, I ’ ll be waiting… ” 
 
 I reached out for the bag of mild cheddar cheese. Under the fluorescent lights I stared at it, and tears started forming in my eyes. Was this all I could really aspire to? This stupid smiling cow and the bland orange shreds of cheese in the bag. 
 
 Sometimes you can ’ t change the things you want. 
 
 Sometimes you just fall back into what ’ s safe despite what you want. 
 
 Sometimes you end up walking out of the supermarket with another bag of cheddar cheese while Cyndi Lauper ’ s voice haunts the back of your mind. 
 
 “ Time after time…time after time. ”
