What Was Home

The food in the fridge was never fresh, and definitely not what you could call sustenance (think sauces, spreads, rotten vegetables, three-week-old leftovers, and milk).  It was so crowded that things would spill and no one would discover it for months.  We had a tiny countertop dishwasher that we washed our plates, cups, and silverware in, but everything else, including the pots and pans used in preparing the food, sat in the sink until she ran out of things to prepare food with.

Running this by my husband, he enlightened me on something I would not have put together myself.

“So that’s why you drink so much milk.”

“It was the only fresh thing in the fridge.”

 

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Filed under Creative Writing, journaling, Nonfiction

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