So this morning I had a lengthy discussion with my refrigerator. Not really; because "discussion" implies that the fridge was contributing something to conversation, which it wasn't. It was, however, contributing a pretty nasty smell to the kitchen. This was why it needed a good talking-to.
You'd think this was actually my fault, that I'd left something in there just a little too long. I'm pretty well known for Refrigerator Science Experiments. Hell, I once left a thing of leftover Chinese in the fridge so long that it developed representative government. When I got around to throwing it out it formed an allegiance with the mustard and tried to revolt against my totalitarian regime.
Not this time. I have been pretty good about keeping a clean fridge lately so I don't know what's gone south in there. I decided that the fridge itself must be responsible so I started grilling it. This was extremely confusing for the cats, who usually and correctly assume that I am talking to them. The fridge steadfastly refused to acknowledge responsibility; in fact refused to say anything whatsoever. It hummed insolently and continued to stink.
I have always had a habit of talking to inanimate objects, and occasionally yelling at them (particularly cars and computers, which do not seem to enjoy doing what I need them to do) but I think this was the first time I have caught myself actually expecting to get an answer from something which is not actually alive.
This is how I know it's about damn time for spring break.
You'd think this was actually my fault, that I'd left something in there just a little too long. I'm pretty well known for Refrigerator Science Experiments. Hell, I once left a thing of leftover Chinese in the fridge so long that it developed representative government. When I got around to throwing it out it formed an allegiance with the mustard and tried to revolt against my totalitarian regime.
Not this time. I have been pretty good about keeping a clean fridge lately so I don't know what's gone south in there. I decided that the fridge itself must be responsible so I started grilling it. This was extremely confusing for the cats, who usually and correctly assume that I am talking to them. The fridge steadfastly refused to acknowledge responsibility; in fact refused to say anything whatsoever. It hummed insolently and continued to stink.
I have always had a habit of talking to inanimate objects, and occasionally yelling at them (particularly cars and computers, which do not seem to enjoy doing what I need them to do) but I think this was the first time I have caught myself actually expecting to get an answer from something which is not actually alive.
This is how I know it's about damn time for spring break.
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Thanks! Now, go get a drink, sit down and enjoy the show.