A little while ago my friend Emma at Me the Man and the Baby tagged me in a post, asking me to open my fridge to the world. When she tagged me, I looked in my fridge, and just couldn’t bring myself to take a picture of what was basically cans of lager and some cheese. I have been waiting since then for the day when my fridge looked as clean and wholesome as Emma’s, but unfortunately that day has never come.
This is the outside of my fridge, covered in magnets, including the rather funky scrabble magnets that Belle bought me for my birthday this week. The top of my fridge is covered with all manner of junk, including my collection of ‘milk jugs in the shape of chickens where the milk comes out of their beaks’.
The inside of my fridge is looking a little sparse, bulked out mainly by condiments, and includes just your basic essentials such as wine, beer, coffee, cheese, soup, more cheese, and the obligatory out of date eggs. There are also rather a lot of kiwis, that have been there for some time. I don’t know what it is about kiwis. They always seem a good idea at the time, but deep down I know that the effort involved in being bothered to peel them will mean then lie rotting in the fridge for weeks before ending up in the bin.
The vegetable drawer is missing at the moment. I took it out yesterday to clean out the sticky mess that was once a watermelon, and haven’t got round to putting it back. I’m a bit worried to be honest, as in the process of wrestling it out, I managed to puncture a hole in the inside wall of the fridge.
“I made a hole in my fridge,” I told New Boyfriend anxiously as he came back in from the garden.
“You made a hole in your fridge??” he looked slightly horrified and gave me one of those looks where inside his head you knew he was thinking ‘bloody stupid women, making holes in fridges’.
“It made a hissing noise,” I added, “do you think that’s bad?”
“Yes I think that’s bad,” he said, eyeing me pityingly.