Liv’n in the Fridge

If you’re weak in stomach, I apologize for shoving these grotesque pictures in your face.

The fridge. That gloomy, dank, foul smelling modern invention that makes any high school science lab - that nobody ate out of - look sanitary . All the good stuff is grown in here with little or no biological or chemical know-how. Years ago I grew super-resilient strains of e. coli; I’ve moved on to bigger, far worse things.

There’s always that shelf where matter is unorganized and yet somehow life springs forth on its own accord. What was once black bean chowder is now something putrid and completely inedible. Cucumbers continue to grow and soft, white Neuchâtel cheese either liquefies or morphs into a crumbly, yellow brick.

The spills, the drips, the neglect of it all testifies that I am no Martha. Is that ketchup or BBQ sauce? Am I even remotely close to what it used to be?

And for the record, the egg in the jar really is a science project. The procreating colony of mold inside the yogurt, not so much.

I really hate cleaning the fridge, if you haven’t figured that out yet, but this morning I grabbed a clothespin, wiggled my hands through those ever-sexy yellow dish gloves and faced my fears. I will conquer.

Everything has been torn apart, wiped down with a hefty shot of disinfectant and put back together again. It seems like all I have is condiments; Costco size items take up the most room but I can’t live without my Yoshida’s or Ling Ling sauces. I need to go shopping, but there’s always more science to do.

Labels: Home and Garden