I don’t want to live in my refrigerator. Not now. Not ever.
If for no other reason … it’s too cold in there. I moved to
Florida to get away from the cold. I’m pretty happy at 75
degrees but, I don’t think that Marry Anne’s big tub of Greek Yogurt
would Agree with me. Unless, she changes her requirements and
Can live with a few curdles.

The other big reason why I don’t want to live in my refrigerator is
That it would be difficult to figure out where I would fit in. You all
Know I’m kind of an odd ball. Yet, my refrigerator seems to be
A place for conformists. Or, at least “birds of a feather” …if you
Know what I mean. The fruits live in one apartment. The cheese in
Another. The veggies in another. And, the juices live on the
Balconies. The question is, did I ever ask them if they would get
Along during their short lives?

I can’t imagine the Swiss Cheese liking the Roquefort. Man, he
Stinks. I’m not even sure if he took a shower in the sink if Roquefort
Would pass the muster smell test. So, at best, it’s kind of an
Arranged marriage. ”We’ll live together until the Munster, Cheddar and
Brie children grow up and move out of here.”

It’s kind of the same in the Veggie apartment. All’s Fine and good
With the cukes, radishes, celery and tomatoes until the arugula
Moved in. Who ever invited that legume? “We just can’t live near
This guy. I don’t know if he’s Indian or Latin but, this sexy, spicy
Fellow just doesn’t belong in here. He keeps rubbing againist us
And causes all kind of flutter.

The condiments are an all together other thing. There are the Preserves,
The jellies, the Mustards and Ketchups. And, the weirdos like the
Jalapeno Pepper Spread, Chilly Bacon Jam and Pink Lemonade Jam.
These guys are the Head Bangers of the Fridge. They all have some
Kind of hairy stuff hanging from their caps. Maybe it’s because they only
Get call on every once in a while

The milk and juices? Forget about it. Did you ever try to mix these two?
Feh. They’s like oil and water. It’s a good thing they live in sold
Cardboard containers. Otherwise, it would be a Splash War.

The butter lives in it’s own balcony in it’s own glass container. She’s a
Lucky girl. Other that adjusting to everyone else’s smell, she manages
To live a private live. Well, that is until some human breaks in and
Stabs her. Too bad, nobody gets out alive.

Maybe my refrigerator is a metaphor for life? Nah … it’s too cold.