The innards of Frig are like one giant teetering Whoville contraption. You'd think I'd learn to clean out my shiny Frigidaire before heading to town for the weekly shopping. Sadly, I have not.
Every clerk in Hillmomba liked shopping day a lot
But Hillbilly Mom of Hillmomba assuredly did not
HM hated shopping, like a festering lesion
Old foodstuffs remaining in Frig were the reason
Other folks in the Mansion must not have been bright
To keep foods that they knew had long lost their delight
HM did not think she should clean out it all
When others' chore tallies were hideously small
I alone possess that innate talent for determining the unwritten expiration date of unmarked foodstuffs. Farmer H would eat leftover barbecue for two weeks, or until it grew a furry green coat. The #1 son once called me to ask if he could still make a bologna sandwich for his lunch, because there was just one green spot on the top slice. And The Pony never opens Frig, because he only eats three foods, none of which reside inside a refrigerator. The demand for industrial diamonds could lessen if only Farmer H would find a way to market that single piece of pizza he leaves in the whole box jammed into Frig's upper palate. Yes. It's that hard. I'm surprised the dogs are not in need of dental implants after breaking off their very canines trying to ingest petrified pizza.
The dogs love shopping day. Not because we buy them treats. But because they are the benefactors of Frig's indigestion. If not for me sorting through the remnants, my guys would soon turn our kitchen into an episode of Hoarders. They would be the ones declaring, "Huh...March 2011? It doesn't smell bad. There's no mold on it. I thought I might use it one of these days."
Don't get me started on the milk (which HM does not drink) that begins to grow chunks. How unable-to-make-a-decision do you have to be to take it out, smell it, declare, "That's no good," and put it back in Frig?
Somebody needs a rap across the big ol' bear paws with a wooden spoon.