Cheeseless in Seattle

You always hear those stories about couples who have been together for a really long time, who have started to take each other for granted. You know what I mean. The husband and wife who don't attend to the daily, tiny kindnesses and who barely seem to notice that the other person is even there any more. Then, as the marriage falls apart, they both realize (if this is a Lifetime Original movie starring Lisa Hartman Black and Patrick Duffy) how much the other person really DID for them, and how unappreciative they have been all along, and if only they could have a second chance, they would never take that person for granted again. They would love them, cherish them, forever and ever, amen.

Well, I'm finally understanding what those feelings are all about, people. No, nothing is falling stale between me and Nordic Boy. Not to worry. The relationship that I am lamenting right now is the one I have with...a refrigerator.

I am currently without fridge. My new house did not come with a fridge, so I have to buy one. And in the days that lined up between moving in and today, I have resigned myself to living without a fridge for a week or two, because hey, I just bought a house and have lots of things to spend money on and I have to prioritize these things, and so how hard could that be, to live fridge-free?

It's hard. It's hella hard. How did I grow up not appreciating this fine invention? Why, when watching Little House on the Prairie and seeing Nels lugging huge chunks of ice out of the ice house, did I not say to myself "thank Petey Wheat that I don't have to do that?" Why, each time I had a nice, cold Izzy soda to quench my thirst, did I not give my fridge a little caress?

I don't know why. I just didn't. Took it for granted. Grumbled at it late at night when I was hankering for something and standing there with its door open, looking at my vast array of condiments (easily 40 or 50 different condiments in my fridge, I'm sure). Kicking its door shut as I made my milky Earl Grey tea in the morning. Kicking it! For shame.

So now I understand the error of my ways. I was blind but now I see. I want to be able to store cheese. And milk. And have cold beverages. And, oh sweet Theo Huxtable, some ice cream. Store them all, cold, chilled, in my very own abode. Right there. Close by.

I remember the only other time in my life that I was ever awed at the majesty that is refrigeration. When I was growing up, my friend Ali's house had the most mammoth fridge I had ever seen in a house. Ever. Still to this day that behemoth was impressive. Every time one of its gigantic doors swung open before me, I was agape. It was like a walk-in closet of a fridge.

I don't need a fridge like that, obviously. But I do need a fridge. A glorious, beautiful fridge. I have the one that I want picked out, and it is sexy. I can't wait to have it be a part of the family. I will treat it kindly, with reverence, and every spoonful of Ben and Jerry's that I consume out if its loving guts, I will say mea culpa, dear fridge. I am sorry that I didn't see the beauty radiating from within your little lighted interior.

And hopefully, my future ice box will hold no grudges against me. Cool forgiveness will be mine. It will all be water under the fridge, as Balki Bartakamous used to say.

Kiss the rings, I'm out.
Librarian Girl