Fridge Talk

Over the years I have come to have an intimate relationship with mine, and I absolutely feel possessive over it. To say I am in a relationship with my refrigerator might seem like a stretch, but hear me out. It’s always there for me, will happily accept whatever I put in, never talks back, and occasionally provides the exact comfort food and energy boost required to get through the busy days. It’s opened and closed a hundred times a day, has to store not just the produce and proteins I hope to cook with for dinner (that, spoiler alert, comes daily!!), but also has to store all the condiments I may need to eat dinner with, the leftovers of dinners and Shabbos past, all the milk varieties (sigh for the good ol’ days when milk variety just meant skim or whole), drinks (cans, bottles, big and small), and all the dairy (all the cheese and 400 yogurts in every shape, flavor, and size), while simultaneously staying organized enough that someone who opens it can actually locate what they need.

Now I know what you’re thinking. Ha ha, Danielle, your teenage boys will never be able to find the ketchup. Even if there was a neon sign that read “ketchup” with an arrow pointing to it, they would still need you to locate it for them. And to that I say, fine. You’re right. So really when I say “someone” needs to locate something in the fridge, I mean “me.”

I need to able to use my fridge space well enough to know what I have and use it before it expires. It’s a constant race against the clock.

Refrigerator games.

It’s basically like the Olympic sport of motherhood.