“Momma?”
I stop reading and look up at Mamacita as she swings on the swing set, her face looks quizzical as she catches my eye, her hair blowing across her cheek as swings in the light breeze of the afternoon day.
“Yes, what is it?”
“Momma, does bleu cheese come from blue milk?”
It seems her and G had been discussing the complex nature of bleu cheese and he told her that bacteria is part of aging cheese. She didn’t think this sounded right. She had been pondering the possibility that truly it was blue milk and there was a land of blue milk producing cows, sheep, or goats somewhere.
I must admit I have never considered this a possibility. But really it does make sense.
