My Fridge Needs a Power Suit

The other day I had unexpected company. Usually, I at least attempt to make the house appear what I call “surface clean,” which means the house is really dirty, but to an untrained eye it appears relatively neat. Obviously, there was no time to prepare the house before the company arrived. I tried to usher everyone outside to a sitting area so that no one would focus too long on the dust-laden shelves, completely unrecognizable dining room table (this is where I have created an office) and the sink full of dirty dishes. Of course, the problem with taking the party outside is that people have to come in to go to the bathroom, get a drink, get a band-aid, whatever—and when they make these trips inside they are often alone and then free to examine the house and all its gross imperfections inflicted by the inhabitants.

“So, the contents of your fridge consist of milk, vodka and leftover pudding pie,” said one of my guests.

“Well, I wasn’t exactly expecting company. I’m pretty sure there’s yogurt in there, too,” I said, as if this was an adequate defense.

This led me to think about what a person’s refrigerator contents say about them. Milk, vodka and leftover chocolate pudding pie might suggest that I like to entertain but rarely do, that I am slightly sloppy by nature, unemployed and probably eat out a lot. I wondered about my guests and what they must have in their refrigerators based on their personalities.

Suz, the gourmet cook with the fabulous everything, probably has cilantro in a cup of water, fresh tomatoes, a raw meat marinating in some sauce-filled tupperware, eggs, milk and all the necessary staples for whipping-up a delicious meal on a whim.

Ed, funny guy with a job at a good restaurant, probably has a styrofoam container of leftovers from said restaurant, a box of baking soda in the back and maybe a half-empty pitcher of instant Gatorade.

Tim, funny guy who I just met and know little about other than that he judged the contents of my refrigerator, probably has things in his refrigerator that don’t really belong there, like a box of cereal, peanut butter and maybe a bag of flour.

Can’t we just go back to judging people on their looks, the car they drive, the brands they buy and the job they have (or don’t have)? Life was so much easier when judgment was entirely superficial and limited to one’s appearance. I can put on a pin-striped power suit and appear incredibly capable to anyone looking to pass judgment. But now I apparently have to worry about the contents of my refrigerator, too? So, I guess my question is: can I buy power suit for my refrigerator?