Admit it. Every time you open the refrigerator door, you hope and pray the jumbled mess of Rubbermaid containers filled with last week’s leftovers, cups of yogurt and not-completely-zipped Ziploc bags full of grapes don’t tumble into a mess on the kitchen floor.

It’s okay. You can also admit when opening said door, you pray the 87 jars of partially-used condiments - the ones you know you’ll never empty - don’t shatter on the tile floor you finished mopping 10 minutes ago.

Been there. Done that.

Years ago, after a particularly hectic and stressful morning, I swung open the refrigerator door, only to have a large jar of Smuckers grape jelly land in a blob of shards of glass and grape goo. I burst into tears, frustrated with life’s idea of a lunchtime joke.

Courtney, at the time in second grade, turned to her siblings, and said, “Oh no, Mom really loves grape jelly.”

Nothing like the innocent humor of a seven year old to make you forget the worries of your world.

You may not find milk or bread or even eggs stocked on the third shelf every day, but you’ll find plenty of other items. I try to keep the refrigerator in an orderly manner, but the six jars of salsa - all in varying degrees of spiciness, five bottles of hot sauce, four containers of salad dressing, three jars of olives, two jugs of craft beer and single bottle of empty ketchup clutter the top shelf.

Don’t even get me started on what’s in the five cubbies in the door.

It would be easy to sweep it all into the trash can and crack open a new jar - or jars - of spicy mustard we never intend to finish.

I’ve tried clever contraptions - decorative bins, clear plastic bins, sheet pans, a lazy Susan. Everything still overflows, including the bottle of syrup one of the grandkids (or Scott or maybe me) tucked sideways, into a bin, on the top shelf.

Basically, they don’t work. I firmly believe organization devices for the refrigerator are a racket, concocted by food processors and corporate America, to convince me that by taking one simple step - purchasing said bin - my Whirlpool side-by-side will suddenly resemble a picture perfect refrigerator, straight out of Better Homes and Gardens.

Doubtful.

I even tossed all the butter bowls in the garbage, switching to clear plastic reusables, so a container of spaghetti sauce doesn’t provide a surprise when I open it after it has sat on the back shelf for three weeks.

Some friends suggest labeling each item with a piece of painter’s tape. Um, isn’t that what expiration dates on the label are for?

Perhaps there’s a simple solution. Instead of trying 17 brands of barbecue sauce, let’s find one and stick with it. Same goes for hot sauce, vinaigrette and jelly.

What fun would that be?