I entirely forgot about our beekeeping club’s monthly meeting, because now that I’m organized and keep two electronic calendars along with the glossy fridge calendar, I often blow off scheduling events because it’s a triple bother. Turns out it was a blessing I stayed home, because I had to help John wrap the refrigerator in a ballet tutu. I’d noticed that the fridge wasn’t cold, and after googling “why are my door seals warm,” I convinced John that we had to pull the fridge out from the wall and vacuum its backside. He was game. Trouble was, our fridge was stuck between the cabinets and the wall and didn’t want to budge. He asked me to get a very long thin belt. The best I could come up with was a bolt of peach colored tulle I once used to make a goldfish costume. He told me to climb on top of the fridge and slide the tutu fabric down the back. In doing this I found a forlorn chocolate coconut macaroon possibly abandoned by the previous owner. I wanted to eat it but John was impatient to get on with the fridge moving, so I tossed it onto the counter. We called the kids in and tried to pull the fridge out from its alcove. We were too weak. Artfully wrapped in pastel mesh, the fridge was like a transvestite champion wrestler, unflinching as we heaved in its shadow. We called in the neighbors, Allison and Mo.
I guess what they saw was a refrigerator wearing a tutu and my sweaty family’s dinner debris on the counter next to a little poo. It was really the chocolate coconut macaroon, which I only noticed looked like a tiny poop once the neighbors were standing in the kitchen, surveying the scene. I considered moving the macaroon, but feared I’d draw attention to it and they’d get really grossed out wondering if I touched poop then held the same stretch of fabric we were asking them to pull on. I suddenly wished I had gone to the beekeeping meeting. But then I wondered, if I weren’t here, would John have thrown the macaroon away, or thrown it on the floor with the magnets, post-its, and other fridge debris he’d stripped off in frustration? I think it would look more like poop sitting on the floor in a pile of random mess. But they wouldn’t have to worry about cross-contamination from my hands. Then I wondered why I hadn’t eaten it when I wanted to, and avoided this shameful scene.
This morning I considered making Allison and Mo a batch of cookies to thank them for the help, but quickly realized why that was a horrible idea. I’ll give them a jar of honey instead.