|From the movie, Behind the Candelabra.|
I just don't understand why we have to have so much goddamn food in this house. Every month we have to throw away hundreds of dollars worth of food that spoils and goes out of date because Mark insists on buying more food whether we need it or not. And then there's the Field of Dreams factor that has helped me pack on fifty extra pounds. "If you build it, they will come" which translates to, "If you refrigerate it, I will eat". Our fridge is packed so tightly that not one more morsel can be put in there. Yesterday I tried to put some sodas in the fridge so that we would have cold soda later in the day. It was overflowing with leftovers, meats, produce, and various mystery packages, so I tried to balance the cans of soda on the edge of a shelf. The first two cans sat there precariously as I tried to fit in can number three. I managed to squeeze it up against a pound of butter and started to close the door. It wasn't to be. As the door slowly swung shut the can of Cherry Coke sprang off of its perch and slammed to the floor. Sugary brown liquid spewed across the kitchen floor and onto my legs. As I realized the gravity of the situation I went into one of my rants, spewing out the filthiest words I could think of in the filthiest combinations possible. When I regained my composure, I got out the mop and some towels, and tried to clean up the mess. Funny thing about soda that explodes in your kitchen, it's nearly impossible to clean up. There was Cherry Coke everywhere. Our kitchen floor and my legs (I was wearing shorts) are now as sticky as Liberace in a dirty book store.