Feta

As in:

After having denied herself for months, Perri was now rampaging through the dairy case with the kind of zeal that would frighten even the cows. She loved the different ways she could get mozzarella to melt like candle wax over triscuits, slices of eggplant, and blue corn chips. Then there was the way she delighted in crumpling feta with her own fingers, onto mounds of steaming pasta.

Her brother, Reese, jokingly warned her about the dangers of a repetitive stress injury, but she blew him off.

“Okay,” he said, “you get feta-nitis, don’t come complaining to me.”