Sometimes, I have to remind myself that I’m thirty-eight years old. Because the temptation to pout like a four year old can just be so strong.
I mentioned on Monday that our fridge died last week. I was NOT in the mood to shop for a new one, and didn’t properly adjust my attitude before I headed to the Second-Hand Fridge Store on Saturday morning. Therefore, I had to hold myself back from dramatically slumping my shoulders and stomping one foot.
Well . . . it wasn’t that they looked bad. Really, every fridge I looked at was perfectly nice.
And it wasn’t even that they smelled bad.
It was just that they didn’t smell new. Straight from the factory, never-housed-an-onion new.
Seriously. I want perfection.
But . . . after a trip to the big/fancy store where I saw the prices of the straight-from-the-factory-scented versions, I realized that purchasing a used perfectly-good used fridge was the wisest choice.
As I got my own dead-for-four-days fridge ready for the Used Fridge Delivery Man to remove it, I realized how ridiculous my obsession with a perfect, unblemished, scent-free fridge was.
My fridge? The one I’ve had for eleven years? Definitely not perfect.
I cleaned it out, but I definitely wasn’t worried about getting it pristine for its trip to the dump. I just wanted it to be non-humiliating.
For a girl who obsesses over a PERFECT used fridge, I sure don’t worry much about keeping my in-use one perfect.
Me and my double standards. Ugh.
And then, as I self-righteously (still, even after wiping out my own really-truly-icky used fridge) wiped down the looked-perfectly-clean-but-what-if-they’re-not shelves of my newly-delivered used fridge . . . my suspicions were confirmed!!!
The bottom crisper drawer? It wasn’t clean. Not in the least! It looked like someone had done a half-hearted job of getting crumbs and particles of who-knows-what out of there, but he/she did NOT bother to scrub or shine or take any pride whatosoever in the state of his/her crisper drawer.
Then . . . a glimmer of recognition flickered across my Slob Brain.
This . . . was my drawer.
My drawer. The one I just “cleaned” ten minutes before.
Everything began to add up:
The fridges were the same size . . . .
The one I bought was missing a drawer in the store . . . .
He mentioned something about replacing it with a drawer from another fridge . . .
My guess is . . . since they needed to replace it anyway (and evidently forgot to replace it before arriving at my home) . . . it was completely appropriate to replace it with my drawer.
Besides . . . I obviously don’t mind if it’s not perfectly and totally clean.
Hmmmph. If they only knew!
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