Cold lust
I have been catching myself fantasising and lusting at odd moments. I can't keep my mind from yearning. Every time I go near the kitchen, it starts again: the passionate desire for my new fridge.
The house, the one we're finally getting in August, has a huge, gleaming white fridge, with a beautiful freezer on it. I want it. I want it bad and I want it now.
Every time I try to find a new way to cram something into our dinky little freezer, I imagine what I can put into all that space.
Every time I open the fridge by pulling on the side of the door, as there is no handle, and dig around in the dark, mysterious depths, I dream of a handle and a light that turns on when you open the door.
Every time I pull a carrot out of the produce drawer, hereafter refered to as the "dildo maker", and it goes "wibble-wibble-wibble" (imagine holding the end of the carrot and wiggling it in the air while making that noise, and you'll figure out what I mean), I dream of a crisper worthy of the name.
Automatic defrost, oh baby!
The house, the one we're finally getting in August, has a huge, gleaming white fridge, with a beautiful freezer on it. I want it. I want it bad and I want it now.
Every time I try to find a new way to cram something into our dinky little freezer, I imagine what I can put into all that space.
Every time I open the fridge by pulling on the side of the door, as there is no handle, and dig around in the dark, mysterious depths, I dream of a handle and a light that turns on when you open the door.
Every time I pull a carrot out of the produce drawer, hereafter refered to as the "dildo maker", and it goes "wibble-wibble-wibble" (imagine holding the end of the carrot and wiggling it in the air while making that noise, and you'll figure out what I mean), I dream of a crisper worthy of the name.
Automatic defrost, oh baby!