Monday, June 23, 2008

All I want is a fridge somewhere ... and a bug-free, marble-free zone.

In the year of decisions, we are making great progress in some areas, and in others—we are not. Those latter areas where progress seems stilted are areas that truly must wait. The waiting is the hardest part. We need to wait on buying our first refrigerator as we have no place to put the lovely once we purchase it. But she (our fridge has already been relegated to female status as the keeper of the food and the keeper of our dietary sustenance) is already a goodly part of the family. We don’t know if she’ll be a Kenmore, a GE, a Whirlpool, or an Amana, but we know she’ll be. She will live, and the finding of her (she hides and will only reveal her true self at sale time) is an adventure that fills the back of my head and every waking moment much to the annoyance of dear Mr. Husband.

It is a household task to find her—the perfect being in a fridge (if she be a being). She shall have filtered water and make ice cubes in different shapes and sizes. She will offer a space for our glasses that is both convenient and well-lit. She will have drawers that pull out without squeaking and offer little corners where we can store our fun, crisp foods that often wait to become moldy (it’s true). She will be sleek and have two doors, side-by-side. She will have a special place for holding our Diet Coke cans. She will have a front façade that we will use to splash photos of our families across. Thank You notes will dangle from her sides as we remember time and again hand-written messages from family and friends. She will truly be a member of our family. She will display us in all our photo and Thank You note glory.

This is a great household task, household adventure, that will remain with us for years to come. It must be set upon with great care. Our current life is splashed across our fridge with love and little care. Bottle openers are convenient. Life is evident.

The fridge displays everything quite clearly. Other things in a home can be hidden and either jump out at you, drop on you, or roll away from you. Lots of action from you. (From me.)

My Mr. Husband is learning quickly about these out of control hidden issues that do not hang on the fridge quite so clearly. We are learning about household tasks that require Mr. Husband's special care. These are super tasks that require Special Forces for proper completion—Mr. Husband is totally the Special Forces division in this household. When he is gone, or MIA at a convention, I have to suffer and battle evil forces on my own. Recently, this required a shower-morning-battle with a house centipede. Yes, the very creature that has caused women to scream for years as their lives are put into jeopardy by the many legs, countless sections, and threatening tentacles that advertise certain death from a ceiling or corner of the room. Such a creature threatened my life while Mr. Husband was at Tech Ed the other week. Such a creature put my life in great peril.

I jumped out of the shower, blind girl without glasses in the shower (who wears glasses in the shower?), and I screamed for no one to hear. Alone was I! The cats looked at me with great annoyance and offered no support for my well-being. Death lurked near the ceiling. Death was clearly stopping for me in the bathroom that morning. Death walked across the top of the ceiling, dropped into the bathroom sink (kismet),and then met his own wet, torturous death as I all-a-shake turned on the water faucet. He struggled, but I was tough in my suddenly-single-mode-without-interested-cat-to-help, and I ended the life of the deadly creature by pouring Comet down the drain for safe measure. No Hindu, am I.

Of course I documented the life-death-cusp-of-edge-of-being-moment. Here is the Death Bug. Mr. Husband thanks himself daily that I lived throught the experience with all my fingers and toes.

Conveniently, this evening, I’ve dropped a marble down the kitchen sink drain. It is a pretty marble: pink and iridescent. So pretty. Such a problem. As I cooked dinner this evening, fajitas!, I reminded Mr. Husband that he needed to clean the kitchen afterwards. (He is the King of Kitchen Dishes and wears the best imaginary hat you’ve ever not seen that indicates he’s in control of the situation.) I forgot about the lovely marble. Again, convenient. He turned on the garbage disposal and the loudest cracking screamed from the drain as the pretty little marble met his death. (Lots of death tonight.) The sound was so loud that I yelled, “Oh! I forgot to tell you that I dropped a marble down the drain!” Mr. Husband immediately told me that I was to stick my precious hand down the kitchen sink drain to recover the marble. I quickly recited to him my keen knowledge of horror films, which he never watches, that clearly indicate to me that by sticking my hand down said drain—my hand will instantly be chopped to bits and zombies will take over the world. Zombies.

Fortunately, Mr. Husband saw the wisdom in my explanation and apocalyptical zombie vision. He fished out the marble. It was in pieces already due to its struggle with the garbage disposal (I think I forgot on at least two different occasions since the original marble-dropping incident and inadvertently flipped the switch--oops).

We face a new world with our new home. A world filled with our own mystical fridge being, a world with giant bathroom bugs that could end our lives with one bite, and a world with suicide marbles with a penchant for garbage disposals. We face a brave new world. I hope that Mr. Husband is ready … because sometimes I’m basically helpless.

1 comment:

facingthetrend said...

OMG!!!!! I just came in from playing tennis with Brian and I had one of those HORRIBLE BUGS IN MY BATHROOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!