It's been a month since my last posting, so I am forcing myself to write today. It is almost time for my lunch break, and staring at me from my desk is a Cup O' Noodles with a cartoon chicken on it. While I'm excited to eat this sodium-filled novelty, it is a slight reminder of my poverty. And my hatred of grocery stores. A peek in my refrigerator would reveal a disgusting scenario: a complete lack of edible foods. Currently, I have 2 liters of milk, one which is fresh, the other which has separated, the jug bloated with gases. That is only the tip of the iceberg, my friend.
Take a tour with me, why don't you? Over to the left on the inside of the door are the condiments, various salad dressings, 3 containers of cream cheese, and maybe a packet or two of duck sauce. Most of these are fine, minus the jar of moldy marinara. Moving onward from the door, you will find the top shelf to be stocked with 3 half-eaten loaves of bread (hardened, of course), a brown banana (hey, I can make banana bread with that), tortillas, an old pudding cup, month-old hummus, and a bowl covered in tin foil, the contents of which are a mystery. The middle shelf contains that infamous spoiled, bloated milk, as well as good milk, bad vegetables in Tupperware, another pudding cup, a bag of mini bagels, and some salsa. It is shelf #3 that is the most hideous. A bottle of soda whose carbonation no longer exists, a bag of squishy apples, a Brita pitcher with tiny black dots of carbon in the water, more tin-foiled bowls of mystery contents, and a 2 month old pan of dried brownies. Atop the dried brownies is a dish of homemade peanut butter frosting, equally old and equally dry. I won't even subject you to the vegetable drawers.
Though I have not yet found the culprit of the fridge stink, I know it's in there. While this kind of disgust is often normal for those of us in our early 20s, I still can't help but doubt my domestic skills. How can I raise children with a refrigerator that could eat them? "Mom, what's for dinner?" "I don't know- a dry piece of wheat toast and a bowl of French dressing. If you look hard enough, you might find an old carrot." My roommate and I have labeled our fridge "Second Garbage." I blame my bad fridge-keeping skills on my hatred of grocery shopping. And being picked on as a child.
