hot pockets

I sat in a box on in the refrigerator, frozen in the darkness. The only companionship I have is the other hot pocket next to me. We are both confined in plastic and barely speak. When the freezer is opened, the warm air rushes in and light pours onto us. It is only then that we really come to life. Will he choose us or the pizza rolls? Times like this usually occur whenever he is home by himself or whenever he is too lazy to cook his own food. He grabs a few ice cubes out of the tray adjacent to us and we cease to see anything happen in hours or even days.
Me and my bud in the box reminisced about how we got into this fridge in the first place. There we were sitting next to our hot pocket friends like philly or chicken marinara and suddenly we got grabbed. As our coats of thin ice slowly dissolved, the complexion of our breading became soggy. In was then that we were put into this fridge and found solitude in this frozen land again. I had big hopes. I wanted to be eaten, knowing that I would satisfy whoever got the chance to microwave me.
Then came Monday morning. I could feel the cheesiness inside me turnabout. It was the perfect opportunity. He came down early at 6:30 and I could hear the pantries and the fridge below me open and close. Then our door opened and I saw his sleepy face. To my delight he ripped our box open and tore my packaging off. I said farewell to my friend knowing he would have the same fate as me. As I lied in the microwave for 90 seconds, I knew my time was up. I had done what I came to do.