Posted Tue, 02/28/06
This particular blog entry probably belongs on my food journal Appetizing Muse, but since it's not a lip-smacking discourse about fine edibles I decided to post it here instead.
My husband is very good about defrosting the refrigerator. Personally, I despise the task. I don't want to hear about it, I don't want to know about it, and I definitely don't want to see it.
I do my best to keep the refrigerator clean as I go along, but there are always those stray "leftovers" that somehow get shoved to the back and forgotten, hidden by other foods. This morning my husband found a Chinese take-out container that was as old as the hills, and I could hear him gagging and choking in the kitchen as I worked in the computer room. Better him than me.
I have a fanatic aversion to spoiled food. I cannot stand looking at it, or being responsible for the disposal thereof. This irrationality reaches back into my childhood, but I'm not sure what particular event gave rise to the phobia. For me, rotten food ranks right up there with fear of heights and enclosed places.
However, both my mother and husband take perverse pleasure in showing me the decaying results from their "green fuzzy" clean-ups, despite my heartfelt pleas to be left out of the loop.