Like Donald Trump is determined to get his wall, I’ve been determined to get cheese without plastic and I’ve made an extra special food trip for it.
I beadily eye up all the beautiful stacks of cheese presented to me behind the glass.
‘I’ve given up plastic’
I proudly announce to the butcher who’s come over to help me as if I’ve just completed my first year at school.
‘Can you please cut me some cheese?’
‘You don’t want any of these?’
He gestures to the pre-cut, wrapped in plastic items.
There’s a pause, I don’t feel like I need to explain further.
‘Can I please have 500g of that one?’
‘Right you are.’
‘Oh, no wait…!!’
Startled by my confusing outburst, he looks up in surprise, the way you see in a cartoon where the baddie is theatrically forced to hesitate before he hits the big red button, startled by the hero’s unexpected arrival in his lair. Only in my version, this well-meaning butcher has just stuck his hand in a fresh plastic glove and it’s poised above my cheese.
My shoulders sag.
Oh, um nothing, don’t worry.
Shrugging the incident off, his clean hand protected in plastic, he cuts my cheese, wraps it in paper and hands it to me. The plastic glove is thrown in the bin.
Whatever happened to utensils.