Moldy Cheese

“Dad?”

“Yes Anora?”

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“That,” Anora pointed at the light blue fuzz on the side of the block of cheese.

“That’s mold.”

“Oh. Is it bad?”

“It can be.”

“Oh. I don’t want bad things.”

“No, that’s why we’ll cut it off.”

“But isn’t all the cheese bad?”

“No, dear. On cheese, you can just cut the mold off.”

“Oh. Why?”

“Well, I guess because cheese itself is kind of moldy. Or is a mold. Or something like that, I’m really not sure.”

“Oh. Gross, I don’t like cheese.”

“Are you kidding? You love cheese, you ate a chunk as soon as I took it out of the fridge!”

“Yeah, but that was before I knew it was mold. Mold is bad.”

“Some mold is bad. Some is good.”

“Oh. How do I know which is which?”

“Ask your mother or me.”

“Oh. Dad?”

“Yes, Anora?”

“Are you almost done?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you keep interrupting me.”

“Oh. Dad?”

“Yes Anora?”

“I’m hungry, can I have some cheese?”

“Sure, sweetie, here you go.”

“Fankf.”

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