On Velveeta

When I was growing up, my mom never allowed Velveeta in our house. Something about it not being real cheese. Probably a fair point, but as a result of this denial, I must have had a deep-seated yearning for Velveeta, of which I wasn't even aware. Until one night in high school....and a certain friend...and some "K-weed" (homegrown mild you-know-what). My friend ALWAYS had Velveeta in her family fridge. It never interested me until that one night. When the munchies hit, I went into a Homer-Simpson like trance "Velveeeetaaaa, I want to try Velveeeetaaaa." My friend gave us each a fist size chunk, which we each held like an apple and dug in. For her, it was routine. For me, it was one of the most memorable culinary moments of my life. Sooo good, so creamy, I was transported by this big ol' hunk o' heaven. Until the K-weed wore off. Velveeta has never been the same for me since.