The Fridge Saga

My refrigerator has been slowly dying. It has been a long and torturous death (mostly for us). Each time I open it, I find little pools of water on top of the sour cream, filling the strawberry container, causing the egg carton to disintegrate…

We need a new fridge, honey.

I know.

The pools have been getting large lately – cardboard cream cheese boxes gets stuck to the shelf. Saran Wrap covering leftovers sags under the extra weight.

Bill, we REALLY need a new fridge.

I know.

The vegetable and fruit crispers start filling up with water. We can bob for apples in our own fridge.

Bill! We NEED A NEW FRIDGE NOW!

I’m not sure which was the actual final straw – whether I actually nagged my husband into submission, or whether he was finally convinced by the waterfall that occurred IN MY KITCHEN while I was preparing h’or d’eurves for 20 for the baby shower I hosted on Sunday – but I am the proud owner of a brand new fridge!

My husband, the world’s upmost follower of the “measure-twice-cut-once" rule, in fact did not measure at all when he set out to purchase our new appliance. Perhaps he was caught off-guard by the sobbing wife in his kitchen, or the 300 appetizers laid out on the counter.

He came home with a beautiful new fridge – the display model because I HAD TO HAVE IT RIGHT NOW – and tried to get it into the house. Problem number one: it wouldn’t fit in the door.

As he and I friend struggled under the bulk and weight of the bottom-freezer-automatic-ice-maker-stainless-steel-doesn’t-rain-inside beauty, I helped enormously by yelling, “PIVOT! PI-VOT!” Ala Ross from friends. Strangely, they were not entertained. Nor, did they effectively pivot.

After removing the handles from the new fridge, my front door from the hinges and the children from underfoot, they managed to wrestle the fridge into the kitchen. There, they discovered something. The fridge was about 3 inches taller and 2 inches wider than our old one. That didn’t seem like such a big deal to me, but the men did not think my idea of “push harder” would work and instead decided to destroy the cabinets above and beside the fridge.

Bill worked for hours, with all sorts of tools that made all sorts of horrible noises and an enormous mess in the kitchen. He cut three fingers, and suffered through the fact that the only bandaids in our home were blue and featured Nemo. The end result looks okay as long as you don’t look directly at it, or try to open the cabinets… You see, in order to make the fridge fit, but the cabinets still look good, the boys took out the inside shelf, trimmed the edges and then just nailed the doors back on. They don’t open anymore which wouldn’t be an issue except that the destroyed cabinet used to be where I kept the wine. (No bother – the counter is much more convenient.)

I know my husband worked extremely hard lifting, carrying, fixing, sawing, gluing, hammering and cleaning up afterward, but I’m sure you’ll agree I had the hardest job:

After he finished, I had to google the map of the USA so I could put all of our state magnets up in the right spot! Woe is me!!