So I was cleaning out the fridge, and found a mushroom. It was all dry and wrinkly, and I started to wonder about what stories I could get from finding a mushroom in the fridge. So, here’s Anna, doing just that.
There’s a mushroom in my fridge, right behind the tub of (not real) butter. It’s a whole mushroom, and it’s small and wrinkled. I look closer, not touching it.
Maybe it’s from the box of mushrooms I roasted last week? It looks raw, so it must have fallen out of the box before I cooked them. I hope it’s from last week. If not, then it’s from a month ago, at least. Maybe two.
I reach out to pick it up. I expect it to be slimy, but it’s dry. A puff of cold air hits my face as I close the fridge door. I bring the mushroom closer to my eyes. The wrinkles are big. I didn’t know that mushrooms wrinkled like that. I thought that they went slimy and then just kind of disintegrated into mush.
I poke it with a finger, right in the middle of the cap. It gives, like it’s hollow inside. I frown at it. What else is in the fridge? I haven’t cleaned it for a month or so. If I missed the mushroom until now, what else might I find if I look? Dry cheese? Moldy leftovers? Something slimy and gross that I’d have to put gloves on just to touch? I squeeze the mushroom. It bounces back to its wrinkly form.
I shrug, and throw it away. Maybe I’ll clean the fridge tomorrow.