Problem is, I hate to grocery shop. HATE. DETEST. LOOOOATHE. The Safeway is a completely unsafe environment for the Kris, stocked with forty types of vinegar when I'm pretty sure we all know humankind needs only one, not to mention the infants and the toddlers and the teen boys with their hands flailing toward my highlights while mommy's back is turned. It's enough to make a woman order in every night. Or just not stock her fridge. Like ever. At all. Like really.
Behold today's confession, folks: my refrigerator.
Now before you freak out and start calling the ugly people who protect cats from their neglectful, wino owners, let me offer that I was indeed out of town for five whole days last week. I wouldn't have wanted anything to rot, particularly this:
Yep, see that clear container of soup on the middle shelf? Well, Grissom, that pretty girl used to be a Panera side salad. A co-worker didn't eat it so I took it home from my company meeting in EARLY JULY. I'm pleased to see that the empty Tupperware to her left decided to keep her company. Wouldn't want her to get lonely in there. And perhaps be attacked by a fifth of a green pepper. Moving on.
I HAVE A JOB. What in God's name would make me think that I couldn't afford to toss the last precious three milliliters of Pinot Grigio from my clearly well-fingerprinted glass? And when did I become an ER doc or mother of triplets or Carrot Top or someone else who might legitimately have a reason to be busy enough to put the IMPALED NIPPLE OF A CUCUMBER in the forefront of the fridge? Um, in such a rush to blog and file down your feet that you didn't have time to remove the slicing implement, Kris?
And doesn't it look like it got stabbed in the damn mouth? Like it was sassing the gang of condiments and one of them done gone and shivved him right in the piehole?
Ok. Kids, let's stop this crazy sexual tension a la Maddie and David. You two have been making blue lips at each other since at least May. Whaddya say you scoot on in closer and get your parfait on? Can't you hear them now, party people? "Yoplait or mine?"
I'll be going now.
Labels: Stuff that's wrong with me