>The Cold War

>”I’ve come to the realization that you spend at least two hours a day standing in front of the refrigerator.”

My 16-year-old looked over at me, her face illuminated by the eerie glow of the Frigidaire light. I swear she’s worn two tiny grooves into the kitchen floor from where her feet stay planted before the fridge when she’s in “Hmm, what do I want to eat?” mode.

“Two hours?!” she blustered.

“That’s 14 hours a week. 728 hours a year. 30 days! Do you realize you spend a whole month of your life every year standing in front of the refrigerator?”

“Well, there’s too much to choose from,” she said defensively.

It must be genetic, because her sister and father do it, too. The moment they open the refrigerator door, their eyes glaze over and their jaws slacken as they slouch into a cold food-induced reverie. Watching them, you’d think I had put one of those whirling hypnotic swirls from the cartoons inside the fridge, just to torment them.

I would never do that, of course, although I am thinking of reserving one shelf in there for family photographs or maybe a Periodic Table of the Elements, just to make their time more productive.

So I’m pretty sure that while other parents will one day nostalgically remember their offspring playing little league baseball, running for class president, or dancing in The Nutcracker, I’ll sit quietly in an old rocking chair some day, reminiscing about the time my stepdaughter chose chocolate milk and a Gogurt after spending 30 days in front of a refrigerator.