(a) My mother is either obsessive-compulsive about buying condiments, or simply very forgetful. There have been times where there are no less than four jars of THE SAME EXACT SORT OF MUSTARD (I could maybe forgive this if she had an array of all those different freakish sorts} in our fridge, all mostly full, some unopened, none very old. She's the same way about milk and orange juice, which amuses Nicole and I to no end. We often discover that between the milk, orange juice, and condiments, there is no room for anything else.
(b) My mom is one of those (loveable) freaks who actually cooks a lot. Therefore, we often have a lot of ingredients for various foodstuffs. However, should a few be missing, we are only capable of half-making any one of a dozen things. It's usually crucial ingredients we're missing, too (bonus points in Kitchen Bingo if we don't notice this 'til we're halfway into a recipe)
(c) The only items we have that can be eaten alone make for meals too bizarre even for me. Call me crazy ["you're crazy!"], but a dinner of bacon, salsa, and pickles doesn't seem too appetizing. Pregnant women would adore our fridge.
Our kitchen is a wacky, wacky place.
Hrm. I still have Greg's pants. And Tish's trout, since she left it here. I really ought to give those back...