Okay, it’s official. Our refrigerator hates me! Allow me to explain.
Having a large busy family, leftovers, etc, have a way of building up as do things that have transformed into disgusting scientific experiments that no one should have to witness.
So tonight I decided to do something about the problem, handing out the decree that all of us were to have leftovers for dinner. As I pulled containers from the fridge, I tossed things that I wasn’t quite sure were safe to eat any longer. I’m a strong believer of: when in doubt, toss it out.
I got down to the meat bin and paused, cringing in advance of what I knew I’d discover. Sure enough, I opened the bin and found it to be crammed to the rim with a variety of every imaginable lunchmeat.
Why? We don’t eat that much.
Anyhow, pulling container after container out, I made my way through the stratosphere of meats down to the wide selection of moldy cheeses.
At least…I think they were cheese.
From the amount of gross mold covering them, I wasn’t in the mood to take a closer look to discern what they were.
Under that delightful layer, I came to the one I like least—the containers of sour cream, cream cheese, etc. I can’t stand these. First of all, we don’t really eat them. So why are they there? Someone will get a hankering for some and buy a container. They then satisfy their craving with a single serving, and then the container gets tossed into the bottom of the bin where it sits, if I’m lucky. But more often, with folks rummaging around, it gets tipped on its side, leaking its gooiness.
Yuck!
And me, being a thorough cleaner, removed every last container from that bin. I then checked the contents and tried not to gag when met with some god-awful smell or mold that looked like it had mutated into something far beyond normal mold.
Oh, the technicolors.
I tossed the foods that had gone bad, soaked and then scrubbed the caked-on spilled liquids out of the bottom of the bin. Next, I dried the bin and slid it back into its slots in the fridge, pleased with myself. I turned round to the island counter where I’d placed the items to be retuned to the bin—the ones worthy of consumption by living beings. I picked up a large container of sour cream and turned to place it in the bin. But the edge of it caught on the door of the fridge that had begun to close.
Ugh!
The container fell from my hands. I watched in horror as it fell on the floor, lid coming off, its contents splashing everything within a three-foot circle.
Shit!
I cursed a bit, took several deep breaths then set about cleaning up the mess. Ever tried to mop up sour cream? I don’t recommend it if you can avoid it. That task took a while. Finishing up, I was pleased to see that about half the sour cream had remained in the container.
Oh, joy!
I washed its lid, attached it with a satisfying snap and reached out to open the fridge.
That’s when the brand new large container of creamer that sits in a very secure place in the door somehow managed to fly out of the refrigerator and land on its lid, which, of course, cracked.
Happy, happy, joy, joy—NOT!
I stood there glaring at the creamer, oozing out of the container, creating a defiant puddle on my just-cleaned floor.
That does it!
All thoughts of me having an appetite flew right out the window. I’d managed to maintain my hunger throughout the rest of the fridge-cleaning process. Not quite sure how. Perhaps it was all those years of cleaning disgusting diapers. Anyhow, as I stood there contemplating if it was okay to cry over spilled creamer, something within me snapped, and I decided that dinner was not something I was prepared to eat.
I got down on my hands and knees—again—and tried to clean the spilled creamer. Although it’s not as sticky as apple juice or sweet pickle juice, it’s slimy and somehow evades being mopped up, even with dry paper towel.
Oh, the pleasures!
By the time I finished that distasteful task and nearly, well alright, did hurl, the food items back in the meat bin, I slammed the fridge door and retreated to my office, where I’m not typing this blog.
What have I learned from this experience? Deciding to have leftovers for dinner and cleaning the fridge do not mix, especially if your refrigerator hates you.
Hmmm…. Having gotten this of my chest, now I’m hungry.
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