I hate my refrigerator.
The big black side-by-side is narrow and impossible to organize. Containers of caramelized onions and half bottles of ketchup disappear in its depths. This evening my middle son tried to shove his lunchbox between a carton of eggs and the leftover risotto. He stepped back to gain some leverage, eyed his target and aimed deep. I stopped him before he could topple the applesauce. “Put it in the basement,” I said.
Now that’s a real refrigerator – wide shelves, freezer on top. The basement fridge is an ugly, dented floor model from a discount appliance store, but at least a person can see past the first row of yogurt. You can cool a pot of soup on its wire shelves and still have room to defrost a chicken. A resourceful cook can store an entire pan of lasagna, a double batch of challah dough, an extra gallon of milk.
Side-by-side seemed appealing when we bought the house – sleek, black, shiny. And best of all, it came with the kitchen. Every one of the original appliances has sputtered and died since we moved in a decade ago, but the GE Profile lives on.
When I reluctantly shopped for a new dishwasher last year, I eyed the rows of refrigerators at the other end of the showroom, lined up like bulky dancers. I quizzed the salesman about ice makers and storage capacity, certain that any day I would be back.
When our gas cooktop gave up the ghost, I returned to the same store, gazing longingly past the new burners, still dreaming of refrigerators. New microwave? Same story. I liked my old dishwasher; the cooktop boiled water and sauteed onions with ease; the microwave was completely unobtrusive until it stopped working.
The fridge, on the other hand, is a constant source of aggravation.
You might ask, “What’s the big deal?”
Who hates a refrigerator? There are real problems in the world, right?
Of course … and one day I will try to solve some of them. In the meantime, I am saving my pennies, studying up on Energy Star ratings and humidity controlled crispers.
A girl has can dream, can’t she?