I had plans for today.
Nice ones. I was going to work on my (other) blog, rebuilding it after some arsehead fucker hackers saw me as some kind of international threat to the sanctity of Mother Guilt or something, and
dabble in work on some writing projects.
I noticed a friend was sad. So I sent her a text, asking if she was up for a hug. And, of course, some lunch. I do have some priorities, you know.
All organised to shower and head off for a lovely lunch date with a lovely person – by which I mean, I was madly trying to Finish This One Little Thing Off Before I Go, when Grumpy Pants yells “Can you come here and help me with this!”
It’s not a question. It never is.
It is discovered that the fridge is not working. This is not the Fridge That Was Not Working of our Epic Move of a few weeks ago (which I had completely forgotten about in this post of a few weeks ago – you see, what happened then was that we were all organised what with having a truck for two consecutive days that we figured we’d move all the food (and wine) out of the back fridge/beer fridge/wine fridge/spare fridge with freezer/other fridge, located in the garage, into the House Fridge, located in the house.
We would them move the Other Fridge to the “new house” , plug it in, let it do its thing, then transport all the food from the House Fridge into the Other Fridge, now located in the garage at the new house, then move the House Fridge to the new house.
The Other Fridge had different ideas and promptly died the morning before we planned to move it, totally fucking our plans.
Now you are all updated about the Fridges.)
Anyhoo, our fridge – the House Fridge – had died. It was my own fault. I noticed it and went into denial. Surely I have had enough shenanigans for one lifetime in this last month alone? Surely?
Just a day. I mean, we’re now at the stage of lodging Breaches of Duty, due to the severe lack of heating in this house and various other failures, and I am wandering around wearing leggings under pyjama pants.
(Yes, I own leggings. And wear them. Shut up!)
The fridge is now warmer than the rest of the house. Only yesterday, it was the same temperature; so much so that Monkey Boy suggested we save electricity and the world but just switching the fridge off and leaving its contents around the house.
I would have agreed, but was worried said contents might freeze being out of the fridge.
Thus, as I’m trying to leave and, instead, am required to transport the contents of the House Fridge into the Other Fridge (in the garage, which was somewhat easily fixed, despite being 107 years old. Ok, maybe it’s closer to 12 years old, but it is still kicking. Except when we have plans for it to be working.)
As I’m carting Tupperware fridge container after Tupperware vegetable thingy (ok, and bottle of wine after bottle of wine after package of goats cheese) out to the Other Fridge, I give thanks that I took that moment yesterday morning to do something useful to kill some time and boredom.
Yes, just yesterday morning I did the first Big Supermarket Shop we have done in something like nine weeks.
Had I not done it, the fridge dying would have been far less exciting.
Then I ran out the door, and wondered if I would ever return …