It was bound to happen sometime. . .
I live like a bachelor. I'm not kidding. If I was still working steadily, my fridge would be full of take-out containers and beer, with maybe a few condiments on the door, possibly some Gatorade for hangovers. Really, I'm not kidding. This has happened. But alas, I am poor, and always make enough food for myself that I will get to have leftovers for lunch. Sometimes I remember, quite often I do not. This, dear readers, leads me to tonight's post.
I cleaned out my fridge.
Now, I know what you're thinking: Gee, Vanessa. Most people do this once a week, still others once a month. Why are you making such a big deal out of this? Because, my friend, I do not think to clean my fridge. I barely think to do my dishes on a regular basis, and right now my bathtub is under several inches of Scrubbing Bubbles brand cleaning foam (which, incidentally for those who ever wondered, hurts like a motherfucker when it comes in contact with your eyes!). I am lucky that I make it out the door. My Meows are lucky that I clean their box on a semi-regular basis. So yes, cleaning out my fridge is a BIG DEAL.
There aren't even words to describe how absolutely foul it was in there. Pull out a container. Could it be? Yes! The tomato soup I made when I had strep throat that hurt me too much to eat! And this little fellow? Oh, joy of joys! A chicken breast baked in honey, made even before my strep throat! And the acorn squash that accompanied that I never ate! *SQUEAL!* Ancient sour cream and chives mashed potatoes that I added cheddar cheese to! My night is made of rapture! (And, yes, the mashed potatoes were made from flakes, and they were made in the quest for comfort food, as my mother--G-d rest her soul--never made real smashies. Gross, but I eat them right out of the pot, and I like it better than chocolate.)
So, a bunch of small garbage bags later, and after massive tupperware washing, my fridge needs food. Well, fresh food, anyway. I wasn't courageous enough to tackle the ancient jar of peanut butter that previous roommates left behind, or the applesauce that I didn't even know was there till I moved a tin-foil wrapped something. So maybe, just maybe, I'll keep the fridge that clean.
Then again, maybe pigs will fly. . .either way, I've a bathtub that really might have melted away from all the foam cleanser. Someone seriously needs to domesticate me. I can't live this way anymore. . .
Tomorrow's episode: *gasp!* The dining room! (dun dun DUUNNN)