For this week’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt from Linda G. Hill, we’ve been ask to write a post about “the last thing you put in your fridge.”
I’m writing this post at around 11 pm Friday night and have it scheduled to be published at 3 am my time on Saturday. The last thing I put in my refrigerator before this post was scheduled to be published was this:A can of cat food. Our cat goes through a little more than two of these 5.5 ounce cans of FirstMate Cage-Free Chicken Formula cat food a day. When there is any food still left in a can at the end of the day right before we go to bed, we store the open can, with a rubber top on the can, overnight in the fridge.
So, it’s safe to say that almost every night, the last thing that is put into our refrigerator each night when we go to bed is an open can of cat food.
And, that, my friends, is it. Question asked, question answered.
Monday is Melanie’s day to post her Share Your World prompt. And this week’s questions are rather odd ones, in my humble opinion.
Where do you not mind waiting?
Well, my glib answer is that I don’t mind waiting when I’m in a waiting room of some sort because that’s what the purpose of the room is — to wait. But the truth is that, as long as I have my iPhone with me and there’s internet access, waiting, even in a waiting room, is not intolerable. I can write and read blog posts, I can read articles on my newsfeed, I can play solitaire, or read a book on my Kindle app.
What is in your fridge right now?
A picture is worth a bunch of words, right?
If you could only speak one word today, what would it be?
I don’t know if this is a word, but it would be “Shh!”
Would you rather be trapped in an elevator full of men with BO or three soaked dogs?
At the risk of sounding like a grammar Nazi, this question is awkwardly worded. It seems to be asking if I’d rather be trapped in an elevator full of men with BO, or if, instead, I’d prefer to be three soaked dogs. Since I can’t actually be three soaked dogs, or even one, I’m going to assume Melanie meant the second option to be trapped in an elevator with three soaked dogs. My answers is neither. I’d rather take the stairs.
Elaine came home from work exhausted. She walked into the kitchen, dropped her pocketbook on the table, and went to the fridge to grab a beer. Suddenly she froze. “Clyde,” she screamed, “where’s the goddam refrigerator?”
“I hauled that piece of crap out of here and dumped it in the ravine behind the house,” he called out from the living room.
“What on earth possessed you to do that?” Elaine, bewildered, asked.
“It wasn’t keeping my beer cold enough,” he complained.
“Why didn’t you just call the place we bought it?” she asked. “It was still under warranty, you idiot!”
Written for the Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Photo credit: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.