After a fun evening with a friend, this story came to me. With some imaginative help I have created the answer to an unsolved mystery. Read on...if you dare...MUAHAHAHAHAH
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Harold is small. And when I say small, I don’t mean short or thin. I mean he is a staggering two inches tall. But don’t ask him about his height. It’s a touchy subject. Because what Harold lacks in stature he makes up for with his HUGE and defensive ego. If asked, Harold puffs up his chest and proclaims his height as two and three-quarter inches. And if you so much as mention how ridiculous it is to add the “three-quarters” he will launch into an overzealous lecture in which he states that he is an honest man, but a man to whom every inch or three quarters of an inch counts.
Harold is also a Viking. And I don’t mean this as some sort of arbitrary metaphor either. Harold is actually a Viking…no, Captain of the Miniature Vikings. He wears a silver cap with two ivory antlers protruding from the sides. He adorns his diminutive body in full armor with dull spikes on the edge, thus making it apparent that he is merely trying to appear rugged and tough. He has a long, bushy chestnut beard that is the consistency or texture of a squirrel’s tale. Harold also has little beady eyes that cling to the bridge of his large nose, creating a permanent scowl upon his face.
So now you know: Harold is a two and three-quarter inch tall Captain of a squad of other tiny Vikings. Think you’ve heard enough? No! You want more? Harold and his fellow Vikings have a very serious profession…
…They make the holes in Swiss cheese.
I know this because one time I saw Harold and he told me. However, I am breaking a promise by telling you this classified information. You see, I was supposed to keep my meeting with good ol’ Harry a secret. No human is supposed to uncover the mystery of Swiss cheese and I was to continue living life as if I didn’t know the answer. But it’s eating away at me (pun intended) and I must share this secret with you.
While the Cheese-makers are asleep, Harold and his gang sneak in and make the holes with special tiny circular shaped tools that resemble mallots. And what do they do with the excess cheese? Why eat it, of course! Well actually, they bring it home to their families. Yes, they have little 2-inch tall families (well the children are minuscule in comparison to Harold and his crew, just like human children are much smaller than their parents).
Now I know you probably think that this is all fictional. But I promise - this really happened. Pinky swear. One day I was watching my friend eat Swiss cheese at his dining room table. I know…I lead a fascinating life. He was peering through the holes as he held the slice between his fingers and I asked the fateful question: “Why does Swiss Cheese have holes?” He looked at me, smirked, and continued eating. As if this question was of no importance. Ha!
A few moments later, I looked behind his chair because something caught my eye. Perched on the ledge of a windowsill was a tiny Viking. It was Harold – decked out in his best and shiny attire – standing in all of his (little) glory. Naturally I was astonished to see such a sight and I thought maybe all my lack of sleep was finally catching up to me. My friend stood up to the go into the kitchen and, as he left, Harold leaped onto the table and looked me square in the eye. First, as a test, he whacked me on the cheek with his metal weapon AKA the tool he uses to form holes in the cheese. When I merely rubbed my eyes in dismay, thinking I was having a hallucination, he realized that I was harmless and not easily angered. He proceeded by shouting “HELLO, I AM HAROLD! CAPTAIN – SWISS CHEESE UNIT”. I told him that he didn’t need to shout. Just because I was larger than him did not mean I was also hard of hearing or unintelligent. So then he summoned me, to come closer, with his tiny, blistered hand and whispered into my ear. He told me everything I have just written and when I rolled my eyes in disbelief he demanded that I look behind my friend’s chair once more.
I glanced over and sure enough there was a small cluster of, oh, I don’t know, approximately, FIFTEEN tiny Vikings. One of them, in the midst of the group, shouted as he jumped up and down, greeting me with much admired enthusiasm. When he realized that he was the only one behaving in this absurd manner (all the other Vikings were quiet and still), he became quite bashful and with much awkwardness said “Hi” under his (cheese) breath. After this uncomfortable display, the other Vikings chimed in, saying “Hello” and “Hi” and “How ya doin, me lass?” (well no, not really, no one said that last one…but that would have been nice). They stood, huddled up, and shyly waved, as if they were young children forced to be polite to an elderly stranger.
Just as I was about to speak, I heard the floor-boards begin to creek. (Hey, that rhymed!) I looked toward the hallway to see if it was my friend or his pet cat. I’m not sure which would have been worse for Harold and his posse. Does Patches need a new chew-toy? Let’s hope not. Indeed, it was my friend returning from the kitchen, but when I turned back towards the window ledge to warn my new pals of the approaching danger, they were already gone. Where to? I’ll never know.
Anyway, now that I have divulged this information, please, for my sake, do not repeat it. If it gets out, I am worried that Harold will come back with his Vikings and attack me, probably during a much-needed afternoon nap, with their cheese weapons. In which case, the next time you see me I will know you cannot keep secrets, and consequently be covered in tiny Swiss-cheese-like holes.
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