My Wife Has Joined a Cult

So, my wife and I haven’t had any squabbles in several years. Seriously, we get along that well.

Unfortunately, we have now declared the fridge a battle zone. Yes, I said the fridge.

Why? Because my wife has joined this weird fruit-and-vegetable cult.

Saturday is their Sabbath. Every week, she disappears early in the morning to go participate in the cult’s pagan rites. I don’t know exactly what they do—and I don’t think I want to know—but she comes home with some of the weirdest-assed stuff. I’m talking great big bulbous vegetable types of things with hairy-looking roots at the bottom and stalks busting out everywhere.

Half the time, I don’t think she even knows what it is or where it came from. But she loves to fondle this stuff under running water, lovingly dice or chop it up, and call her fellow cult members to talk about what it might be and how to cook it.

So how does the fridge come into this? Well, she brings home a whole laundry basket full of stuff, and most of it is not bagged or anything, just flopping around free in the wind like my nudist friend’s junk must. And then she crams all this stuff into our fridge.

Then along comes me, just looking for a nice little O’Doul’s or pudding or whatever, and I open the door to see this total jungle. Seriously, green-leafed stuff is jammed all along the tops of the milk and into every nook and cranny. If I want to get something out, there’s no way I can find it unless I unload the whole fridge so I can actually see what's in it. It’s a major half-hour project just to extract a jar of mayo. Occasionally, when I try to just wedge and wiggle my hand inside the fridge to pull something out, the whole avalanche comes piling down on top of me.

So I’ve been carping about this a little, and the other day my wife got sick of it and started pulling stuff that I like out of the fridge and telling Austin to go throw it away. It was a lot of fun and games! You should have seen the look on Austin’s face.

Now, I admit I like a lot of this green stuff, but I think the time has come to get a new fridge and move this old fridge down into the garage, where my wife can turn it into a permanent upright altar to hold all this weird produce she now worships. I don't even know for sure if she's still Mormon anymore.