Thursday, June 25, 2015

 






























Why this piece pisses me off:

First of all, this savvy woman thought to write it, and I didn’t.
Secondly, she is spot on about everything she says.
Thirdly, it is real and raw.
Fourthly, it is well written.
Fifthly, it covers all the bases.
Finally, she posted it, and I can’t steal it.

So, I will steal her idea, and I will write about my fridge.


My fridge is ugly. It is where you can see the absolute worst of my ability to cook and clean. I open it’s door when I’m mad, sad or being stubborn. So does he. When it is so uncooperative (not offering delicious treats with no calories), it makes me scream. I also see it, however, when it is sparkling clean (from Mr. W.’s hard rubbing), and I am so happy that he cleaned it that tears run down my face, and I laugh with glee. I see inside it at 3 a.m. when the world is asleep, and I’m snacking in my faded VS nightshirt crusty with yogurt spills. I get to see the inside of this fridge that no one else can, and it is not often very pretty. It hums just when Mr. W. lays down for his nap, but the sound does camouflage his farting while he’s fantasizing about some chick he saw in the SI swimsuit edition. It’s the random smells coming from the veggie bin or the cheese drawer that create frustration. The fridge is not a beautiful thing, but it is amazing. It’s good to know that some appliance sits in your house waiting for you to enjoy its comforts. It’s knowing it can’t up and walk out when you don’t wipe it off or get rid of the seven half-empty ice cream containers. It’s having it at your front and back at all times. It can’t fight back unless there’s a storm and the power goes out—normally, it keeps its cool. Some nights I’d just like to crawl right up there next to the Lactaid and cool down my temper. I can’t rub its back, but I often rub its front, and it shines back at me. At the end of the day, I can’t crawl into it with my best friend, but when Mr. W. is having one of his “moods,” I must admit, it is my surrogate best friend. My fridge is not beautiful, but next to Mr. Wonderful, it’s the back road to heaven.