CARRIE CLASSON (cont.)

from fermentation and poured from the freezer into the refrigerator. Sitting forlornly in the middle of this wasteland were several dozen ginger cookies that Peter had spent hours baking.

Peter closed the refrigerator door. I don't think either of us slept much that night.

All night, I dreamed I was being chased by a malevolent refrigerator filled with unidentified horrors.

Everywhere I went, the refrigerator was waiting for me.

In the morning, my dreams came true.

Peter told the building engineer, Jacob, what had happened, and he gave us a trash barrel on wheels and several heavy-duty trash bags. I put cotton up my nose and a mask over my face, donned gloves, and set to work. We filled the bags, tied them tightly, and Peter brought them downstairs to poor Jacob, who caught a whiff and wheeled the barrel out of the building as fast as he could run.

“He was like a halfback running to the end zone!”

Peter said and I got my first good laugh since leaving

Four hours later, after detergent and bleach and what felt like endless scrubbing, the fridge looked spotless. I took off my mask and removed the cotton from my nose.

The stench was terrible.

We ran a fan all night. We bought some spray that smelled like lime and sprayed it everywhere. We kept the windows open.

That evening, Peter put some beans in water to soak, and we went to bedthankfully,

the apartment.

In the morning, Peter got up and started cooking beans and, when I rounded the corner to the kitchen, finally, I smelled something that wasn't terrible.

“It smells like beans!” I told Peter.

I wasn't even sure I liked the smell of beans cooking.

But this morning, they smelled terrific. In fact, I think beans are my new favorite smell.

Till next time, Carrie

Carrie Classon is a writer and performer. She is the author of “ I’ve Been Waiting All My Life to be Middle Aged.”