I came home today to find what I mistakenly identified as a homeless woman, complete with unkempt hair, dirty woolen cardigan and fingerless gloves making a cup of Milo in the kitchen. In fact, I checked around trying to track down her cardboard box residential investment... and wouldn't have been surprised if she stirred the Milo with her fingers and stuffed her pockets full of cookies.

As it turns out, it wasn't an actual homeless woman. It was just one of my mothers weird friends. At this point I should make note of the fact that my mother is now on facebook, and could potentially hear about this rant, but seeing as though she struggles to turn on a computer and I didn't accept her friend request, I believe I am safe and that we are pretty much among friends here... anyways, where were we?

Oh yes, the homeless one. Who reeked of cigarette smoke and has a child. Her very own child! The cutest blond haired little creature you have ever seen. Which scares me. Because if there was a parenting class that one had to sit through, complete with a test at the end of it, I'm pretty sure this woman would have failed the course for non-attendance. In fact, she probably used the dent in the top of her young child's head as an ashtray when he was younger...

...but I digress.

I was standing in the kitchen watching this woman making a Milo - which involved rattling through the cupboards for a cup and spoon, spilling Milo over the bench, taking the milk out of the fridge and then LEAVING THE FRIDGE DOOR OPEN. Which we all know is bad for the environment. Every time you leave the fridge open a little bit of Elton John dies.

All the while this little snow-haired child is wandering around the kitchen, and eventually finds himself standing in the fridge. Child finds himself standing in the open fridge... mother finds herself standing near the open fridge... fridge door starts to swing closed on its own... Can you see where this is going? It is as easy as one, two, three...

ONE mother watches from no more than TWO feet away as previously mentioned THREE year old child is sandwiched into the lettuce crisper shelf by swinging fridge door.

And after the little crumpled body is retrieved from next to the carrots, all she can say is "Oh, don't play with the fridge, it is like 5 times bigger than you!" No sympathy, no hugs, nothing. Her three year old child is crushed and frozen to death, and she can't even get her figures right...

...because I have moved fridges before, and I am pretty sure that when I struggled to carry it up a staircase the one thing I didn't say was "Wow, this fridge is pretty much exactly the same as carrying five small children!"