I’m looking in the refrigerator for ingredients for Super Bowl fixings for tomorrow. The lunch meat package is half sealed. Shreds of grated cheese are scattered in the meat keeper drawer. The crusts on the bread have begun to dry out from exposure from the rip on the cellophane wrapper. The cream cheese has a hole in the foil wrapper, where a knife pierced it and then dug out a spread or two. The violator (no names) has placed the package of cream cheese back in its little box without sealing the open end.
Remember the story about the lady who ate the five-pounds of bacon and preferred her husband call to report a robbery rather than confess to him of her midnight snack? I think she’s found her way into my refrigerator.
As I sort through my ravaged frig, the normally chatty Reporter is silent. I move from the refrigerator to his infamous “stacks.” It’s not a good sign. He knows it’s gonna get ugly. There’s the pile of opened mail, but, of course, the envelopes are in another stack. Well, you can’t really call a path of torn remnants from the dining room table to the family room a stack. It’s apparent he can walk and open the mail at the same time. There’s his array of Post-It notes. All of them with a single phone number on them, no names, all separated but still in the vicinity of the mother pad. And, of course, of course, his messy collection of coupons.
“You’re such a slob,” I announce with a less-than-melodious tone.
He grins. He always hopes the grin will appease the savage beast. It never does.
I’ve tried over the years to contain my frustration, knowing the words I say may leave a lasting impression. But I’ve had it. I count to three, taking time to come up with a satisfying vent without cutting him off at the knees. “I like… I like… I like black licorice,” I blurt out, “better than you right now!”
This is the best I can come up with? He bursts out laughing, and within seconds so am I. I don’t want to be laughing, but I am. “Wanna go to breakfast?” he says.
“Got a coupon?” I ask. He nods his head, walks to his “stack,” and pulls one out.
And we’re off.
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Sounds like a couple of my people have been in your frig too-ha! So frustrating!!
And I don’t EVEN want to start on the piles!!
I loved the part about the refrigerator. Sounds like one of my kids ransacked it. I’m happy all ended well and with a chuckle. Laughter is the BEST medicine.