I’ve been distracted trying to write this column, because a couple of guys in my kitchen are shouting at each other in a language I can’t understand. They’re trying to fix my fancy refrigerator, and they’ve been at it for quite some time now.
My house is tiny, so even though I’m wedged into my “office,” (which consists of a minuscule corner of my dining room), I can hear every word as if I were in the kitchen with them.
Normally, I never buy fancy appliances. In fact, I buy the simplest ones I can find. My grandfather, who owned an auto garage and who probably could have fixed the space shuttle if they’d sent him up there, always told me that. And so did my father, who was so handy he built our TV from a kit. For fun. Ponder that one for a moment.
“Never buy anything with a lot of bells and whistles, because they’ll cost a fortune to repair,” was their legacy to me, and I always followed it. This was brought home to me yet again when I bought a house with a fancy schmancy electric stove. It wasn’t long before the stove became unusable, because the self-cleaning mode turned itself on permanently and locked the oven door, making it impossible for me to make brownies.
Never get between me and brownies. That stove went to the big recycling bin in the sky, and I replaced it with a simple gas stove that only did one thing: Cook stuff. And it has done a fine job ever since.
But, then, there’s this refrigerator. When our last one died, Curly Girl and I went to the appliance store to find another. As usual, I immediately veered to the cheapskate aisle, looking for the cheapest model that would do the job.
I looked behind me. No Curly Girl. She had immediately gravitated to the most expensive aisle, where the “Take out a second on your house” appliances were displayed in all their shining glory.
“Mama, come here,” she called to me. Nope. No way I was even going over there. At least not until I won the lottery, which has always been a problem, since I never play the lottery.
But she insisted. I didn’t want to spend three hours in the store, so I gave in and went over to gaze upon the glistening splendor.
“Look, Mama, it’s on sale,” my daughter said, pointing to a big side-by-side fridge with the freezer in the bottom and a produce drawer in the middle. I had a sudden wave of longing. I always wanted a produce drawer, to keep my lettuce and veggies nice, tidy and easy to see, instead of flinging them into the back of the fridge, never to be seen again until after they rotted.
This is how you know you’re officially old — when your longing is no longer for romantic love, but instead for high-end appliances. This particular object of my affections was $1,000 off, so it was sort of even cheap-ish, at least compared to the others. I closed my eyes and signed. And in minutes I owned a fancy fridge with ice and water in the door, and a produce drawer.
And here’s what I never expected: I love this refrigerator with the white-hot intensity of a thousand suns.
It has solved all of my refrigeration dilemmas: Trying to find things in the freezer. Keeping the salads at the right temperature. Knowing where to find the ketchup. Getting cold water or ice at the push of a button. It’s a device I never knew I needed, but now I can’t live without it.
But, like everything else in the universe except maybe Keith Richards, it’s getting old. And that’s why there are guys shouting in my kitchen trying to fix it. I now need my water and ice at the push of a button. I can’t live without them. So I endure the shouting, and I’ll open up my wallet when they’re done.
At the same time the fridge went on the blink, my old Maytag washer died, after many years of faithful, uncomplaining service. So, while the guys are still arguing in the kitchen, two more strangers arrive to deliver my new washer. Gee, that’s $900 I wasn’t expecting to spend this month.
And I still haven’t figured out how to use my new toaster oven/air fryer combo that I just bought because the old one died. It’s like my entire kitchen went on strike against me at once.
You’ve probably heard about those people who just live on cruise ships after they retire, because they’ve found it’s cheaper than a retirement home, and they can go to interesting places. That’s starting to look more and more appealing to me, because I’d be fed every day, and I wouldn’t have to own a kitchen.