Their Turn to Attack

Today I was almost killed by a meatball, Reader.

Well, not a lone meatball. It was a gang of them.

“Tell me more, Trixie!” I can hear your chants clamoring for details, Reader.

It all started with an overpacked freezer. 

I don’t know HOW I have such a stuffed freezer, yet nothing to cook.  I don’t understand it either.

Sometimes things show up in the freezer from when the cat uncle stays and watches them, like that Marie Callender Salisbury steak thing.

Other times it’s just things I buy that hang around too long, like the talenti raspberry gelato. Why hasn’t that been eaten already? It’s delicious. But there it sits, months after it was purchased. I don’t know why.

Then there’s the Mystery Meals I pack away in there, leftovers boxed and bagged up from pretty good dinners that were just too much, and we’ll save ’em for another day, then never get around to actually eating them, or I give them to My Artist to discover what’s in the box.

The other day I took him his favorite spaghetti sauce, and it turned out to be a frozen bag of mediocre chili.

He was severely disappointed on the defrost.

Today I went to shove in a couple-ah containers of the Most Delicious Meatahballz, which I made for Christmas Day and there were only about one jillion of them so I boxed some up to go to My Artist, and My HandyDan, and My Own Mouf at a later date.  I planned on freezing them since I’m not sure when I’ll actually get to the delivery.

And that’s where Trouble began.  Those meatahballz, they wanted to fight.

As I slid the first container onto it’s precarious top-shelf perch, and then wedged the second container next to it, the first container slid right out of the freezer and landed with a splat on the floor.

Now, the meatahballz remained contained, so it wasn’t a meatahballz loss; however, the container split open on the sides and spilled out delicious meatahballz sauce all over the floor and bottom of the freezer.

With some loud expletives calm and deep breaths, I got busy with the task of cleaning up sauce from all the places.

And that’s when the second container of meatahballz decided to attack.

That big container slid right off it’s shelf and hit me right on my bent-over-and-cleaning head, plumb near knocking me out.

After the stars stopped swirling around my head, I repacked both containers and gently – ever so gently – nudged them into a secure space in the freezer.

Now we wait to see who they attack next.