Picture this...

No, I'm not talking about my new profile picture...read on... A grown woman with 4 new abdominal incisions in a very light-headed state approaches the refridgerator in search of dinner...slow cooked beef stew made yesterday. She finds two smallish tupperware containers on the bottom shelf of the fridge containing said stew. She opens them and finds tons of carrots, taters, root vegies, shrooms but very little beef. Frustrated and hurting, she mumbles under her breath. Takes the beef that is in there...a baby carrot, a couple of cubes of root vegies, couple of shrooms, skipping the taters (carbs!) putting that which is her bounty on a microwave safe plate. She reopens the fridge door and puts the tupperware containers back in their place wondering in the words of Clara Peller "Where's the beef?" She squats with her arm on the door of the fridge. It is keeping her from a light-headed crash to the floor or a dizzying frenzy. She now seeks out the mashed cauliflower to accompany her few sacred morsels of beef. But alas the cauliflower allude sher. She bends her head into the fridge and spies a much larger tupperware container that apparently holds the rest of the beef stew and perhaps the mother lode of beef but alas...she is already fatigued and tired of her battle for the beef. She steadies her balance and up on top of the diet soda pack she spies the missing cauliflower. When suddenly there is a crash. The front shelf guard on the middle shelf on the door of the fridge come unhinged and half of what is on the shelf crashes to the floor as the sound of broken glass resounds throughout the house. The words "Oh Sh~t" come readily off her tongue as she darts as quickly as her ailing body can out of the way. But what breaks...is it the Grey Poupon? Mais non. Is it the bottle of squeeze catsup? No, silly, that's plastic. What about the walden farms salad dressing? No, that's plastic too. THE PICKLE JAR! The sound was from the jar of pickles. That shattered into pieces. The smell of splenda sweetened gherkins fills the air as the pickles some sheared in half from the flying shattered glass lay in their death bed on the floor. She gathers her composure and picks up the the unbroken vessels of food and safely puts them on the counter all the while cussing under her breath and fighting back the tears. She gets the roll of paper towels and picks up the shards of glass and pickles in the trash giving them their final resting place. She calls her husband on the phone..."there has been a bit of an accident". The end. Kathy (who apparently needs a job being a writer)

For some strange reason while reading this I smelled pickles???

You know what's really bizarre, I had a very similar episode... I came home from my support group meeting last night, having picked up my son at my dad's on the way home. Tuesday's are dinner with grandpa for my son, it's been a weekly tradition for years now. Anyway... We get home, the baby's wound up because she hasn't seen her "Ho-ho" for 4 days, dancing around, skipping, being a nut. "Ho-ho" (aka Holden) goes to the fridge to get a glass of juice. I'm right behind him, trying to find some dinner. Ho-ho pulls out the milk and grabs the juice only to clip the plastic container of SF RED Kool-aid (completely full, of course) with the milk jug, sending it crashing to the ground. Plastic, you say? Pshaw! Not a problem. You would think so, wouldn't you??? Yeah, except for some extremely strange reason, one in a million odds, the container lands on the bottom edge 'corner' and the said corner shatters sending approximately 3/4 of a gallon of red koolaid ALL OVER! 2 year old is skipping around in it, in her jammies, Ho-ho's pleading total innocence, Mom, who's been up since 5am, just getting dinner at 8pm is frantically yelling, "Towel, towel, get me a towel! No, not THAT one, an OLD one!" You wouldn't BELIEVE what I found under the fridge.... Half a poodle soaked in red Kool-aid. (Our dogs shed a lot, even though they're rotties and not supposed to. When we sweep, we refer to 'cleaning up the poodles'.) Finally, after 20 minutes of cleaning the floor, mopping the floor, running the 2 year old's feet under the sink to rinse her off and assuring Ho-ho that I'm not mad and I know it's not his fault, my DH calls from the basement, "Everything okay? What happened?" in his typical 'I'll play dumb so I don't have to deal with it' fashion. Sigh. "Nothing, honey, it's all under control."

Half a poodle soaked in red Kool-aid. - LOL That cracked me up! lol

Great and very descriptive piece there, Kathy. And just look at those collar bones!