Last night we had some of the most amazing lightning I’ve ever seen. I’ve seen closer, I’ve seen brighter, but I’ve never seen lightning so constant it was as though somebody had switched on a strobe light for three hours. It made me want to go outside and reenact that one scene from Flashdance. I decided against it, though, much to the presumed delight of my neighbors.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, my refrigerator is dying. This constitutes both good news and bad news. It’s good because I have come to desperately despise the side-by-side, no matter how many bells and whistles it has. Dude, if I can’t put a large pizza box in there, I don’t want it. Plain white top-freezer jobbie, here I come.
The bad news is…I must now clean it out/off. Why is there potato salad in there? We don’t especially care for potato salad, and I have no memory of either buying or eating it. And the top is a nightmare—this is where everything that doesn’t have a regular home gets tossed. I made the mistake of pulling on the wrong thing and the entire mess avalanched on my head.
What’s up there? Well, the list includes but is not limited to:
* Nine rolls of wrapping paper. I used to keep it under my bed, but wrapping paper rolls and cats? It looked like NYC threw a ticker tape parade behind the dustruffle veil.
* The AirSoft guns, a bucket of BBs and the tall kid’s safety headgear. I wish the headgear had landed on my head before the bucket of BBs did. Ouch.
* Enough World Series Champion Red Sox paraphernalia to choke a dark horse. I went seriously insane that year. Shot glasses, pennants, posters, keychains, waterbottles, bobbleheads, Christmas tree ornaments, you name it. If it bears the words “Red Sox” and “World Series Champions”, I own two of it.
* 234,834,837 school art projects. I might have a world record amount of dusty construction paper here in my kitchen.
* My favorite poster, still awaiting the proper size frame—Darth Vader reaching out his death grip hand, with the caption “Who’s Your Daddy?”. I would save it in a fire. Seriously. (If I could find it here in the avalanche.)
* My Betty Crocker cookbook. I need to hide that again, but in a better spot.
I must go open the crisper drawer now. Think of me.