Dying of Embarrassment

Baroy and I went out to dinner with Marc and Glen to celebrate my and Glen's birthdays, which are four days apart. We nabbed my friend's nanny to babysit for the kids, because she is The Greatest Nanny In The World, Bar None. My kids love her, I love her, Baroy loves her; it's a love-fest.

It's a pity, then, that we'll never be able to have her over again because I will never again be able to look her in the face.

Why? Well, because after she got the kids to sleep, she got bored, and to keep herself occupied, she decided to clean up the kitchen. The stovetop hasn't been that sparkling since we bought it. But that's not the part that's still making me cringe. It's the part where she said, "And I cleaned out the refrigerator for you. There was some very old stuff in there; I hope you don't mind."

Oh, my. I think the last time I had the chance to do a full-out, front to back, top to bottom clean-up of the fridge was...um...some time in the fall. I don't even want to *think* about what moldy crap was probably hiding way back on the bottom shelf. I do know that the veggie drawers, now so sparkling clean they hurt my eyes, were literally lined in bits of old celery and lettuce leaves that we hadn't scraped out of there. But she did. She also scrubbed the grape jelly off the sides of the inner walls, and washed AND SHINED the dripped-soda-encrusted glass shelves, best I can tell.

After thanking and paying her, we watched her leave, and Baroy turned to me, groaning, "Oh, my god, I'm so embarrassed. God only knows what was in that fridge."

"You? You're embarrassed?" I said. "You're a GUY. When she talks about the horrors in our fridge, she's going to cluck about 'That TC, the World's Worst Housekeeper, and her poor kids, who are probably being poisoned by the lunches she packs for them.'"

Uch. Every time I think about it, I just want to die. But I can't die, not now...because I'm too busy peeking into my miraculously clean refrigerator.

Now that I think about it, a little embarrassment never hurt anyone, right? Certainly not as much as months-old chicken salad could...