The Boffin was looking for the Bovril, and I had to tell him it was in the fridge.
His tone possessed that special husbandly annoyance, as if I put his favorite cast iron fry pan in the high cupboard where he would have to move several bits-and-bobs to get to it. You know…something I did just to spite him. Or I was possessing that American paranoia that everything was going to spoil the minute the jar opened.
Of course, being us, there is more to it. You see, Bovril is a beef and yeast extract that is either spread on toast or some other type or bread product or dissolved in a mug of hot water to drink. By putting it in the fridge, it becomes too thick to spread in a super thin layer for that optimal tastiness. He would have to wait a bit for it warm up. On the other hand, we are still experiencing summer temperatures here and can’t keep it anywhere else in the kitchen. Bovril, being a precious commodity Stateside, has to be preserved as long as possible, and I was looking out for his welfare. This is purely an British immigrant problem, so I had to remind him of the reality. Of course, after being married this long, I did not have to go into the full explanation.
Me: “Well, it says to “Store in a cool, dark place,” and it is still summer. Unless you can find a place in the kitchen…”
The Boffin (cuts me off): “My soul.”
Thus, he got the message, and sanity is restored.