When the Fridge Attacks

It seems like lately  I've had a lot of "Lucy Moments."  That's what I call the times when something I do (or don't do) causes a different outcome than I expected.  Undoubtedly, when one of these events occurs, my first reaction is to take a picture.  Don HATES it when I do this.  He thinks that leaving Price in a dirty, poop smeared crib while I go get the camera, or when I decide not to extinguish the small fire burning in the oven (thanks to overflowing cupcakes) until I have pictorial proof means that I have my priorities mixed up.

So tonight, when I opened the refrigerator door and was attacked by a precariously placed bowl of coleslaw, I could hear his eyes rolling when I grabbed the camera to document what it would look like if anyone ever stuck a stick of dynamite in Barney.

 Barney before

And after...

There were little purpley bits EVERYWHERE!  All over the fridge, inside and out, on my face, in my hair, and in places that lead me to believe that most physics theories are just a bunch of hooey.

Nothing like a little excitement on a Friday night...