As we prepped to eat dinner and watch TV, my Wife decided to grab dressing for her salad.
Specifically, blue cheese dressing. The stuff she admits smells like old, sweat-encrusted socks. And she loves the stuff.
She came downstairs a few minutes later with a different bottle.
"I got Italian," she said. "The blue cheese expired."
"How could you tell," I asked.
She cocked her head at me. "The expiry date on the label."
"Notwithstanding that, how else? I mean, it's blue cheese. Isn't the point of blue cheese is that it's already gone bad? Isn't that the appeal? How much worse could it get?"
But she'd made up her mind. There was no going back. Besides, she'd already sat down. The inertia was gone.