Who made me Keeper of the Fridge? (contains all the swears)

An everyday scene of domestic life:

Eeh Bah Mum is upstairs putting away washing in the bedroom WHERE THERE IS NO FUCKING FRIDGE. Mr Eeh Bah is downstairs, in the kitchen stood right next to a large cabinet that keeps food chilled, let’s call it the fridge aka THE PLACE WHERE CHEESE LIVES.

Him (shouts upstairs because his eyes are too weary to look in the fridge from playing Candy Crush but mainly because he cannot be arsed to open the fridge door and look): Do we have any cheese?

Her (dying a little inside, not because of what is asked but because she knows the answer): Yes.

As with most of cinema’s greatest moments the dramatic tension lies not in what is being said but what is NOT being said.  Now maybe it is entirely normal for a man to reach his mid 40’s without ever understanding where cheese is kept. But that is not my issue, my issue is this:

Who the fuck made me Keeper of the fucking Fridge?

I did NOT sign up for this.  It is certainly not a position I ever applied for, I don’t recall ever having an interview.

Interviewer: So Miss Smith do you know where the cheese lives?

Me: Yes in the fridge.

Interviewer: And are you aware of your households current cheese status?

Me: Yes we are currently with cheese, second shelf, on the right next to the hummus.

Dear Miss Smith,

After serious consideration of all applicants the panel decided you were the most likely to give a shit about the amount of cheese in the house.  We are therefore delighted to offer you the position of Keeper of the Fridge.

Please replenish the butter dish immediately.

Kind Regards,


Because this never bloody happened. But somehow because I pushed some babbies out of my foof I am now the person in charge of the fridge.

Not only have I unknowingly accepted this role I am compounding the situation by retaining useless fucking information in my brain. Vital brain space I could be using to plot my path to world domination.

One way of looking at it might be that, as I am the one at home the most then I should take on the role of Keeper of the Fridge, but another way to look at it might be HOW THE FUCK AM I EVER SUPPOSED TO RETURN TO FULL TIME WORK WHEN MY BRAIN IS FULL OF POINTLESS FUCKING INFORMATION LIKE WHAT IS IN THE FRIDGE?

I blame the patriarchy. Or Tesco’s. Or is the fridge itself to blame?

This is very confusing.

Currently I am reading the biography of Empress Dowager Cixi the woman credited with creating modern China, I recently finished a biography of Coco Chanel and Lena Dunham’s book. All these women have achieved greatness in their lives, it’s interesting to note that at no point did any of them appear to waste their valuable time and energy by memorizing the contents of their household cabinets.

I literally cannot imagine a world where Breton stripes were the solely the reserve of French fishermen but that’s the nightmarish situation we would be facing if Gabrielle Chanel had kept on top of her cheese supplies instead of swanning around nobbing royalty and looking fabulous in pearls.

I should probably point out (before he serves me the divorce papers) that generally there is an equal division of household labour in our home. Yep. Even though I’m at home more. The deal is that I signed on to look after the children so when I’m at home that’s my job, I do the cooking because I like it and I am training the children to do it themselves and he cleans up A LOT because he is awesome.

I have therefore decided forthwith (Yes I have been watching The Good Wife & Suits again) to resign my post and abdicate from all fridge based responsibilities.

From this day forward I shall no longer remember the contents of my kitchen cupboards and when I am asked ‘Do we have any cheese?‘ I shall reply ‘How the fuck should I know?

This time next year who knows what I could have achieved?

19 thoughts on “Who made me Keeper of the Fridge? (contains all the swears)

  1. I read a book recently with some explanations for why women are very much the “finders” in most households, and men can’t seem to locate even the things right under their nose. I can’t remember the exact reasoning, something to do with hormones, it was interesting though.

    Still, hormones aside, even my bloody kids (including the male one) know the cheese lives in the fridge, so there’s no excuses for this. Punish him by hiding the cheese and forcing him to solve clues to find it.

  2. Hello,
    Why should this of all your posts move me to comment? Because I thought a work to rule would be enough, that’s why. (The rule being; you drop it, you pick it up and don’t bother asking me where it is, the only answer you’ll get is: “Where you put it”.) I now see that I have to formally resign from my fridge gardian job, just not giving a shit and retiring to my office will not be noticed by ‘the others’. Thank you, I’m off to print my abdication in triplicate.
    PS I totally get the wine snorting thing.

  3. Hear Hear! Let me introduce myself: Keeper of the Gifts – Responsible for always remembering birthdays, even for all his multitude of relatives’ children, buying gifts and wrapping them ahead of numerous parties. I didn’t sign up for that either! Thanks for the post.

    • I refuse to do that job too! This led to a memorableconversation last Christmas where Mr Eeh Bah actually said ‘Other people have wives who do this type of stuff’ hahahahaha

  4. You will hate me (a bit more) because in our house my husband is keeper of the fridge! I have sod all to do with the cooking or food shopping i just shout at him when something i want to eat is missing 🙂

  5. Yes to all of this! Apparently I am keeper of all our possessions future, present and past now too – I was hmphed at earlier for not knowing where my husband had put his phone case a week ago (despite very possibly not having been anywhere nearby at the time). On the plus side, if I want to hide anything, I can just put it behind something else and neither he nor my toddler will ever track it down…

  6. My other half does this constantly, usually along the lines of ‘Do we have any tomatoes?’ ‘Where are my keys?’ and other tedious enquiries that he’d be able to answer if only he took the time to think about them. I’ve taken to replying in an innocent, gosh-it-hadn’t-crossed-my-mind voice that I don’t know. Every single time until he realises that he could just try *looking*.

    We’ll see if this works.

  7. I call it Y-linked blindness. The complete inability to see something despite it being right under a male gaze.
    Conversely, I appear to suffer from X-linked vision, which is very similar to X-ray vision, in that I can locate something from 3 rooms away, through several walls, doors or other impediment to direct view.

  8. Yes! Argh! Solidarity! On the one evening a week when my husband cooks dinner (a meal from his repertoire of 3-4 dishes which I have planned in and bought ingredients for) I am interrupted every 4 minutes by ‘do we have any X? Where is it?’ which is annoying to the point that I’d be better off cooking the sodding meal myself.

  9. Had to join in on this. The other day I temporarily vacated my Fridge Keeping responsibilities to become The Lady On The Phone.

    Husband was in the kitchen, where the fridge lives. The Lady On The Phone was upstairs where the children weren’t. Eldest Child came upstairs just to ask ME if she could have something to eat. Why is it my job at all times, even when I am clearly Very Busy Not Guarding The Fridge?!

  10. Mine will open the door of the fridge and still ask me if we have any cheese/tomatoes/booze because, on opening the bastard fridge, these things didn’t jump out directly into his mouth. Tosser.

  11. We have boxes on shelves for various items of clothes. My husband has recently put labels on his boxes so that things get put away properly. I knew where things belonged just fed up with being the only one to put stuff away so started muddling them up intentionally. So instead of him tidying away I am now faced with labelled boxes – the image of bananas in pyjamas for his pyjamas really annoys me. I hate that I know where crap lives.

  12. What I fucking hate. And it makes me FUME! Is I have to make the picnics, pack the cases and buy the presents for parties. And if I forget the sausages, or the swimming nappies or have no card IT IS MY FAULT! GAH!!!!!!!!!!! Loving you using the word babbies xxxxx

  13. Oh my life, mine will ask me if we have any cheese WHILE LOOKING IN THE OPEN FRIDGE. Probably straight at the cheese, which may or may not be marginally concealed by a half-eaten apple (I hates waste, me). This cerrracked me up proper. xxx

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