I'm not going in the kitchen 'til spring

I'm super-whiny tonight. Like come home and throw myself on the bed, kicking my arms and legs, lamenting that I'm hungry and there's nothing to eat kind of whiny. (We have tons of food in the kitchen, by the way, but it's all stupid and ugly.) The only solution was to go to our local Mexican restaurant and drown my sorrows in salsa and chorizo sausage.

A few hours after we got home, I wandered into the kitchen to fix my blood sugar from too much insulin at dinner (math is hard). I came near the fridge but never actually touched it and it JUMPED OUT AND SHOCKED MY RIGHT RING FINGER. I cried out like I had been shot. For all I knew the fridge had found a way to shoot me. I almost kicked the door in anger, but knew I would have just hurt my foot to go along with my finger.

After I consoled myself with a small bowl of Honey Combs, I shocked the shit out of my thumb on the faucet rinsing out my bowl. So at the moment the appliances and I are not speaking to each other.