As a lad, cheese MEANT Velveeta. It really WAS all we could afford, and then not often.

I currently use it in nightmares, awakening with sweats and screaming "No! No! Not the Velveeta!" and then I roll off the bed and crawl to the kitchen, where I grab a large carving knife and stand guard over the refrigerator, protecting my wife and myself from The Horror. Finally, she "talks me down" and I go to see the nice doctor the next day.

(Peace, I prefer Swiss cheese [Ementhaler] for grilled cheese sandwiches.]