It is cold here in the fridge. I chose to live in the fridge because it is cold. I bought an extra large fridge – the kind used by large restaurants – and I had the shelves removed, so that I could fit comfortably inside.
I don’t live in the fridge all the time. When the weather is cool, I come out to meet my family. My son hungrily awaits these times when he can meet me again.
Of course I must come out every now and then to have my hair cut, or my nails cut, when they grow too long. My wife carefully collects the clipped hair and nails, packing them in a beautiful box. I sometimes catch her licking her fingers when she has finished.
It’s not such a bad life.
The problems started when my six year old boy was walking to school with his friend, Sadim. They saw a large spider walking along the pavement in front of them. Sadim, being a wild boy, wanted to jump on the spider and crush it, just for fun. My son, who is basically a good boy, if a little greedy, stopped Sadim from killing the spider.
“No,” he said. “This little creature hasn’t harmed us. Let us leave it in peace.”
So the two boys passed by the spider without doing it any harm.
And later that evening, my wife got a glimpse of a large spider in our house. My wife just hid in the bathroom for twenty minutes, and hoped that the spider would be gone when she came out.
The spider was indeed gone. But the next morning, my son reported having had a strange dream.
“The spider came to visit me in my dream, Daddy,” he said. “Except that it wasn’t an ordinary spider, but a visiting alien from another planet. The alien was so grateful that I had saved its life that it decided to grant me one wish. It said I could ask for anything, Daddy!”
“Never mind about your silly dream just now, son!” I said. “Just explain to me why you are all covered in chocolate. It’s sticking to you everywhere! What have you been doing?”
My son started to explain, quite excitedly. But I wasn’t really listening. I just reached out to wipe some of that chocolate from his body. The sweet smell of the chocolate was overpowering, and it was covering my son all over, like a half-melted pair of chocolate pyjamas. What on Earth had he been up to.
If only I hadn’t touched him. It was his wish, you see – the unfortunate wish of a six year old boy. He wished that everything he touched would turn to chocolate.
A little chocolate tear rolls down my cheek as I remember.
I catch it, knowing that my wife will want to box it and sell it to a luxury chocolatier with whom we have a lucrative contract. It’s nice to be able to contribute so much to the family finances.
My son was able to persuade the visiting alien to remove his chocolate making powers, for safety’s sake. But he couldn’t turn the chocolate already made back into the things they had been before – the chocolate pyjamas, the chocolate bedsheets, the chocolate pillow, the chocolate Daddy.
It’s not such a bad life, here in the fridge. My wife leaves the radio on just outside the door, and the muffled sounds reach my chocolate ears. And it’s nice and cool in here, away from the horrible melting heat of summer.
“Oh!” I think I just made another chocolate teardrop.
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