Brie

Tonight was a great evening, networking with women that do the same thing I do, on the side - sell Stella & Dot jewelry. We met on the second floor of Duck & Decanter, a posh central Phoenix spot.
They're all a little older, and like 90% have tiny, tiny children. Not my age bracket, not my income level. But lovely people, no doubt. This side business has been a little intimidating - although the potential to make real money is definitely there.
You don't care about any of that shit.

The reason I'm referring to tonight's soiree... is what they served. And what they served... was brie.

Now, I consider myself to be a foodie. I love food. Worship food. I take special delight in trying out a new restaurant, going to a new place and stuffing my maw with arugula, and dark chocolate, and other such morsels. Growing up, my mom was always a stay at home parent, and our Jewish and Turkish cultures meant every meal was an insane feast. As a young swimmer, I'd get out of my 2-hour practice, enter the minivan, and my mother would have a warm 3 or 4-dish tupperware filled with homemade goodies. And that was before dinner. We'd rotate our vacation days around the spot we'd picked for each and every meal.
My LIFE was food.

In the last few years that I've been on my own, my foodie requirements have changed. Meals normally consist of a grilled protein and veggie, breakfast is steel-cut oatmeal w/ peanut butter or granola(which my mother makes from scratch and mails me, but that's a different story) and I tend to piece together my foodstuffs from the average, garden-variety ingredients in the fridge.

I don't buy brie. Who can afford brie? This particular brie was French, speckled with blue, so soft on the inside it oozed. It was served with a white wine. I didn't even bother checking the label. I grabbed a glass and a heart-shaped cracker... a plastic knife... and dug in.
I think I moaned. In the meeting. With the moms, and their jewelry-selling tips.
I may also have had two glasses of wine, and may have quickly begun to discuss the cheese and how good it was with anyone who would listen.

"I know... yes, the Adrienne necklace looks divine as a headband... did you taste the rind? Sometimes the nasty part of the brie is the rind but in this case it's like... the crust on the pie... No, there's hardly any left, you can't try it. Don't... stop reaching for it. It's my... BACK OFF BITCH!"

No wonder I never get anything done. Is it possible to have self-induced ADD? Is that a thing, with a diagnosis, and a treatment? The last thing I remember, I was glaring at this woman with her gall and her high-falutin' superiority complex, requesting the food basket be sent her way. There may have been growling.

I need to buy some fucking brie.