I just shuffled over to the fridge for a soft/hard drink and once inside it was dark.  Now, our icebox is relatively young—a Frigidaire purchased on an unseasonably cold day in December of lost year…

“What the hell?” I asked our old/expired  “I can’t believe it’s not BUTTER!  The fridge is dead AGAIN?”

At that precise moment I felt a minor (2 or 3 on the Richter) quake beneath my slippers.

“Ah Ha” I exclaimed to fat old Lady Hellmann, (who always claimed she could bring out the real, best in me).  “Right”.   I once added ½ a kilo tossing her into my infamous tuna salad delight.


Back to the problem at hand:  Midnight in the Refrigerator of mustard and ketchup.

Concurrently, you should know…construction workers are renovating our basement which we respectfully call “lower level”.  Follow this drift downward?

My body vibrates, the chandeliers shake, rattle and sway, and my freshly cut bangs (friNge to you Brits) stand on end– so call me Sherlock. The hammered people on the lower level have banged the cord out of the unreachable socket above them.

P.S.  Anyone know whom to call re:  Tugging heavy refrigerator from wall and re-hooking plug so nothing goes ROTTEN?

It will be a warm day in purgatory  when I can cool down and blog again.

Try tonight or tomorrow—

Weather permitting.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s