proof that a woman's place is not in the kitchen

Monday, July 14, 2014

One of my favorite posts from MR is, If Your Fridge Could Talk. Go ahead and read it and I'll meet you back here in five. If my fridge could talk, it would beg to be put up for adoption. "Why don't you love me?!?!" it would shout. 

I can't blame him (her?). Him. We'll call him Carl. 
Carl is a severely neglected, lonely refrigerator. His doors are hardly ever opened and his shelves hold only a few, measly ingredients. Here's what he's holding for me right now: 
  • milk
  • ketchup 
  • strawberry jelly 
  • grapes
  • two bottles of Guinness
Carl is under the impression that I'm either an 18-year-old frat boy or a flight attendant (and he's really not that far off). When it comes to cooking, I am completely and utterly useless. Rather than attempt a pasta primavera, I prefer to live vicariously through my favorite food blog, make a PB&J and call it a day. When I'm feeling real gourmet I like to treat myself to a steaming bowl of Kraft macaroni & cheese. 
Since we rarely get home from work before 8pm, J & I don't have much use for groceries. As much as I would love to whip up an egg-white omelet every morning, I usually only have enough time to grab a banana and sprint to the train. Then, after a long day, I try to save what little  energy I have left to speed-dial my Chinese takeout guy (speed dial #6, in case you were wondering).
Still, I never said I didn't love a fully stocked fridge. 
One of my favorite things about going home to California is my mom's fridge. As per tradition, she picks me up from LAX, we drive home, pull into the driveway and while the car is still running, I sprint into the house and yank open those fancy, stainless steel doors. This is the Disneyland of fridges, my friends. The kind with sparkling lights and hidden drawers (!!!!) and all sorts of exciting snacks. The options! The possibilities! It really is the most luxurious thing. 
Carl doesn't have any hidden drawers. Just hidden, expired yogurts. And probably some moldy bread. 
What would your fridge say about you? 
photo via nous décor


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