Right now, I'm not in a mind to conjure up anything new to write about, so I thought I would repost something from last year at this time. Since my blog had fewer than 20 followers then, it will be new to most all of you. . . Here goes:
I lose a little more respect for my family each time I clean out the refrigerator.
Who lives like this? Who?
Are we a pack of raccoons?
Who saved all this stuff? And who wasted all this stuff? For example, not one, but two jars of applesauce-- moldy? Two?? One is bad enough, but two?
And who bought the tube of pesto? A tube. Of pesto. We're more of a "pour and go" family. Jars. I buy toothpaste in tubes and that's about it. And bigger tubes than that.
And all those little ketchup and mustard packets? Do we really think we're going to use those? We're really going to dig those out from under the giant ketchup bottle that rests on top of all those pitiful, little packets? Sure we will. And how did those get in there in the first place? Perhaps they spawned from the ketchup and mustard bottles, together, right next to each other. I don't know.
All questions for minds quicker than mine.
And here's another one . . .
How does all that lint get in there? Who is changing their clothes in the refrigerator!?
That's not that far-fetched, you know. The smell that prompted this latest cleaning tirade conjured images of my son's wadded up socks smoldering in the lettuce crisper.
It turned out to be the butter.
Don't ask me. Quicker minds, I told you.