I caught myself staring into the refrigerator last night. After a long day, I was too tired to coherently process its contents.
Need I say that it's time to go shopping?
I'm very good about shopping for produce--it's a rare day that I don't stop at a supermarket to grab something fresh for dinner. But I've been swamped with work to the point that I really haven't felt like braving anything longer than the '7 items or less' line.
Because I always eat the fruit and vegetables I have, but the cereals and baked goods can sit in the freezer for months, I always feel like I look like a far less healthy eater than I actually am, based upon the contents of my refrigerator at any given moment. It's because I ate the broccoli that I have so many corn muffins, left, I cry!
So if anything happens to me, dear readers, please let everyone know that I haven't been living on Golden Grahams for the past decade. In fact, those were bought for some cereal bars I made for someone else!
As a child I'd go to the refrigerator hoping that somehow, spontaneously, a cake or a pie or candy would appear between the loaves of chaste rye bread, eggs, lunchmeat, and defrosting steaks my mother had selected. I'd usually skulk away with a peanut butter sandwich on cinnamon raisin bread with marmalade, the only remotely 'interesting' things that I could find in the 'fridge.
Given that I'm now the one paying the utility bills, I don't know why I stare into the depths of the refrigerator--I know what is in there. It's not like elves will come late at night and fill it with some mysterious bounty.
But that is how my mind works. I pretend to be a pessimist, but I'm always hoping for good surprises. That I'll wake up more coordinated and beautiful than I was the day before. Or there will be an email in my inbox from an agent I queried saying: "guess what? we want to publish your book."
I have a similar relationship with my clothes closet. I blame it all on The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe--and The Wizard of Oz. The idea that somehow you'll open a door, and find a new life, a new something, as if by magic. Instead, I tend to find a fuzzy peach hidden behind the oatmeal silo.