I stared at my husband, my heart pounding as I braced myself for whatever ridiculous or horrifying revelation was about to unfold.
“Honey… I’m not sure how to say this,” he stammered, looking anywhere but at me. His face was a shade of red I had never seen before, and I couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment, guilt, or sheer panic.
The doctor, who was still suppressing laughter, motioned for me to step into the examination room.
“Mrs. Daniels, I think it’s best if you see for yourself,” he said, barely containing his amusement.
I swallowed hard and followed my husband back into the room. The moment I stepped inside, an all-too-familiar scent hit my nose—strong, musky, and oddly reminiscent of something… familiar. I turned toward my husband, whose arms were now folded protectively over his chest.
“Honey,” I said slowly, “what is going on?”
He let out a long sigh and lifted his shirt, revealing a small, greenish-gray lump tucked beneath his armpit. My stomach flipped, and I took a hesitant step closer.
“Is that… is that mold?” I asked incredulously.
The doctor, still chuckling, nodded. “Mrs. Daniels, your husband appears to have been—unknowingly—carrying a decomposing food item in his clothing.”
My eyes darted back to my husband, who looked completely mortified. “What?!” I practically shrieked.
He groaned, rubbing his face. “It’s… well, you know how I sometimes snack in bed?”
I narrowed my eyes, already regretting the answer to my next question. “Yes…”
“And how I sometimes… fall asleep while eating?”
I crossed my arms. “Go on.”
“Well, I think… I might have fallen asleep with a slice of cheese tucked under my arm.”
Silence.
Then, a snort.
Then another.
And before I could stop myself, laughter erupted from deep in my chest. The sheer absurdity of the situation was too much. Here I was, thinking my husband had some rare medical condition, only to find out he had been marinating a piece of cheese in his armpit for who knows how long.
“So you’re telling me… you’ve been walking around with rotting cheese stuck to your body for days?” I wheezed between laughter.
He nodded miserably. “I guess it must have gotten caught between my undershirt and my skin, and with all the layers I wear at work… I never noticed.”
The doctor, finally regaining his composure, clapped my husband on the back. “Well, Mr. Daniels, at least we now know the source of the smell. I’d recommend a thorough scrubbing and perhaps a little more attention to detail when eating in bed.”
I wiped tears from my eyes as I grabbed my husband’s hand and pulled him toward the door. “Come on, cheese boy, let’s get you home and into the shower.”
On the drive home, he was unusually quiet. “Are you ever going to let me live this down?” he finally asked.
I smirked. “Oh, not a chance. I’m absolutely calling you ‘Gouda Guy’ from now on.”
He groaned. “I deserve that.”
When we got home, I made him strip right at the door and march straight to the shower. I gathered up all his clothes, double-bagged them, and threw them directly into the washing machine with enough detergent to clean a crime scene.
As he scrubbed away in the bathroom, I sat on the couch and pulled out my phone.
Best friend: How did the appointment go??
Me: You’re not gonna believe this.
Best friend: ???
Me: He had cheese in his armpit.
Best friend: WHAT??
Me: A literal slice of cheese. Under. His. Arm.
Best friend: I’M SCREAMING 🤣🤣🤣
Me: So was I.
By the time my husband emerged from the bathroom, looking freshly scrubbed and thoroughly embarrassed, I was still giggling. He plopped down beside me and groaned.
“Okay, I get it. It’s funny,” he admitted. “But you have to promise me one thing.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“You cannot—under any circumstances—tell my mom.”
I gasped dramatically. “Oh, but that’s exactly who I was about to text next.”
“NO!” he practically lunged for my phone, but I held it out of reach.
“Relax, Gouda Guy,” I teased. “Your secret is safe with me… for now.”
He groaned and buried his face in his hands. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”
I leaned in, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “Not a chance.”
And with that, our ridiculous, cheese-infused chapter came to a close—though I knew, without a doubt, that this story would be told at every family gathering for years to come.