Where's the cream?

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A tidy fridge is like a well-written text: elements carefully placed, correctly sorted, well structured. Open it up and you know what you're looking at, what you're getting into: post-modern chaos or zen-like haiku.

Like any text, the content of a fridge can benefit from a good edit, a ruthless sorting, a thorough proofing. Dig behind the mayo jar for the carton of cream, bring it forward, on the right — where the dairy goes. Move the cat food down below, where it belongs — beside the leftovers from (human) dinner. Keep the veggies in the bottom left drawer, the fruit in the bottom right. Want the yogurt? Check up top on the right. 

Unless a post-modern user was there before you, in which case it’s as likely mixed up with the cat food as it is on the dairy shelf. Jangles my nerves. 

I like the fridge in haiku form: tidy, clean, ordered. Val has a more post-modern take: anything goes…more or less anywhere.

We rub along, but sometimes end up with two of something we need only one of, because the first was out of place and, therefore, out of sight. And then I edit the fridge. 

Beauty cold on shelves.
Neat ordered categories.
Fridge zen: There’s the cream! 


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A Post a Day in May No. 14  For the past two years, I have posted something to this blog every single day in May. This year, I hope to do it again. 


Photo by Alexandru Acea on Unsplash 


Comments

  1. AnnMay 14, 2021 at 6:55 AM

    I'm pretty sure we were separated at birth. Are the drawers in your bedroom arranged logically too? Mine are. It's been very helpful the past three months when I couldn't climb stairs. I could ask for am item, the blue one, third drawer down, on the right.

    A couple of evenings ago I made my first serious foray into our fridge. I couldn't find anything. Well, anything I could identify . Still the dairy was in the right place , on the right hand drawer, along with the orange juice.. But the vegetable drawer looked like a science project, and the usable vegetables were on a shelf, not in the drawer.

    But how could I be irritated with someone who had fed and bathed and pottied me for most of three months, when I couldn't do anything for myself?

    Haiku or post-modern? That was a question I failed to ask 25 years ago. I'm glad I did.

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