Life: My Crappy Crisper
I have a theory: to become a Super Villain worthy of a Batman film, all you need do is drink the sludge at the bottom of the vegetable crisper. I mean, think about it! That sludge is like one of those uber-healthy Wheatgrass shots gone horribly, horribly wrong. It’s like a silverbeet peed and crapped on itself and then self-imploded in the core of a nuclear power facility.
I should know. I have one of those fridges where I only manage to clean out the vegetable crisper when it mysteriously gets filled with milk. Please don’t ask. I certainly didn’t ask. I just cleaned it out with a jet hose and a keg of White King.
Whichever way you look at it (or not look at it, in my case), the vegetable crisper is a misnomer. No vegetable ever gets ‘crisper’ by going there. Nuh-uh-uh. It’s a cruel and unforgiving place where we routinely condemn vegetables to the kind of long drawn out death that breaks the Geneva Convention, the Kyoto Protocol *and* the Scout Code. It’s the place where rogue broccoli florets crawl off to die. Where lone carrots become the withered shadow of their former selves. Where a perfectly good zucchini gets to dry out AND become frozen AT THE SAME TIME.
So why do we do this to vegetables? They mean us no harm. There are so many other things that deserve – yes, DESERVE – to be sent to the vegetable crisper in their place, including:
- all five cent coins;
- those fish-shaped soy sauce containers that I can never bring myself to throw out OR use (same applies to individually wrapped refresher towelettes, those shampoo samples that you find in magazines and airplane socks);
- all those plastic bread bag ties that end up congregating at bottom of my chest freezer completely out of my reach;
- almost any correspondence from the local council.
And, of course, there are those things which end up looking as if they served a life-sentence at the bottom of the vegetable crisper DESPITE all due care being taken. For example:
- any note sent home from the school requiring a parent’s signature;
- any self-printed ticket or boarding pass;
- any salad I’ve ever attempted to take to work for lunch;
- any book lent to me where the owner has carefully written their full name along with the date of purchase and where the spine is completely uncreased.
It’s all so wrong that I feel like printing out this post, storing it in the vegetable crisper for a month and then mailing it to Kelvinator, Westinghouse, LG and Smeg (etc.) just to make a point. That’d show them all. Or at least someone in their mailroom…
What horror have you found in your vegetable crisper lately? What do you think should be stored there instead?
The formerly fashionable NDM had three children and discovered that brown is the new black the hard way. The force behind the once-was-blog Not Drowning, Mothering, she now very occasionally writes for the sometimes-blog The NDM. In her spare time, she enjoys baking cakes, cyber-hassling advertising executives and collecting photos of unusual objects made out of paperclips.