Cold Closet

An Open Letter to My Refrigerator:

Dear Refrigerator,

I think you're pretty cool.

You keep my beer cold and my lettuce crisp. I know that I don't always express how thankful I am for having you in my life, that I usually ignore how important you are until you break down and then I freak out about the mayonnaise turning green or the cottage cheese becoming sentient.

I realize that I need to respect you more, Refrigerator. I'm not good at expressing my feelings, but I just wanted to let you know how we stand, from my perspective (you, of course, stand in the same place you've always been, right next to the bread cupboard; you can criticize me for cancelling my gym membership after only 2 months, but you haven't moved in SEVEN YEARS!)

I'm not upset. You are the benumber of my victuals, the gelid provider of my libations. Whenever I look at another refrigerator, I think, 'Not as cool as Claudia 7608.'

But there's one thing I have to address. It's been on my mind since 35 seconds ago, and I need to say something before my memory expires, like that wedge of roqforte I mistakenly left behind the bottle of French dressing (don't pretend you don't remember) and which, when I rediscovered it, I ate.

You need to stop beeping like R2D2 having a seizure if I leave your door open too long. Look, I have to take out some stuff from you, and then I have to put said stuff down in different places. I know that I'm wasting energy. I know that. I don't need you to keep beeping at me, Refrigerator. I already know, okay?

Do you get scared when your door is open too long? Do you get frightened that it will never close?

I promise, Claudia, I will always be there to open and close you.

At least until your 10-year warranty expires and I can afford an upgrade.