Where does your cheese go?

My boyfriend is a stickler when it comes to the cheddar he purchases. He doesn't care if Lucerne is the cheaper option, he wants his Tillamook. I'm not sure what his cooking habits with cheese are when I'm not over, but when I'm there the cheese supply seems to dwindle quickly. I really like cheese. Usually when he's cooking something and using cheese (or even when he's NOT using cheese), he will appease my growling stomach while I wait by slicing off pieces and intermittently visiting the living room to feed them to me.

I can't say exactly in what manner it came about, but this process has led to me referring to my mouth as a cheese hole. It is not a tool with which to talk, or burp, or vomit, or even breathe. Those are just additions added on to the primary function of this gaping hole that takes up much of my face, consuming all manners of cheese.

The only time in which my cheese hole switches functions is around the holidays, in which it also takes on the added abilities of consuming, in vast quantities, pumpkin-flavored things, turkey, and potatoes. Hopefully at least one of those things is accompanied by a layer of cheese.