Papa responds to I’ve been busy cleaning my refrigerator

Note:  If you haven’t read I’ve been busy cleaning my refrigerator, you should start there first.

Dear Jenny,

As usual there is so much BS in this post that’s it’s hard to know where to start shoveling.  

First of all, the milk goes on the top shelf.  Along with the milk is your filtered water, the boy’s apple juice, the babysitter’s diet Dr. Pepper and your white wine.  Admittedly, about six months ago I was able to squeeze in a bottle of Taddy Porter.  Every time I need something it’s on a bottom shelf, and I’m forced to get down on my knees to dig it out.  

Maybe you could explain the logic behind the seven partial containers of homemade pizza sauce in the area reserved for my Double Chocolate Stout?  What are you trying to do with all that sauce—cultivate the next strain of bubonic plague? 

It doesn’t help that Moose thinks the refrigerator is a toy box and spends about an hour a day rearranging his stuff. I asked him in a calm manner to close the refrigerator door 132 times yesterday, in a high pitched scream three times and in a pleading I’m-dying-here tone two times.  

I’d padlock the damn door but he’d have that figured out in about three minutes. Don’t you have any control over that kid?  You’re the parent, i.e., you’re in charge of discipline.  I’m the grandparent, i.e., I’m in charge of spoiling.  Do your job.  I’ve done mine. 

You’re scared of portabello mushrooms?  That’s a joke, right?  What the hell do you thing those little brown cubes in my pasta sauce were that you ate like a starving marathoner?  What do you think the chewy stuff was in my soup that you scarfed down by the gallon? I bet you thought those were chunks of prime beef in the stir fry?  

Yeah, you’re scared of them—scared we’ll run out.

Yours truly,

Papa