My Refrigerator Scares Me

Every few months I gather up both nerve and stomach to clean out my refrigerator. It wouldn’t be so disturbing if I’d just dump the contents directly into the trash, but my guilty conscience compels me to recycle the containers in which my plague-ridden leftovers reside.

Here are a few memorable moments from the Casa Weenie refrigeration archives:

• Is it a shrunken head, or is it a lime?
• I don’t think cottage cheese is supposed to be pink…
• Honey, there’s a decomposing finger in the freezer.
• “Name That Puddle”
• Why does this white ball smell like foot?
• Is that a zucchini in your crisper, or are you just suffering from syphilis?
• Remember the missing avocado from last summer? Neither do I.

You might think I’d learn my lesson and clean out the fridge more often, but then what would I have to submit to the Oxford Journal of Infectious Diseases? Plus, I might be growing another cure for syphilis. (Then again, I might be growing another version of syphilis.)

Being a scientist is such a burden.