When I moved into my house, I bought the fridge from the previous owner with thoughts of
replacing it in a month or two. That was ages ago - the fridge was about 30-something years old back then. No lie.
So how old is the fridge now? It's freezer contains a mammoth carcass. Tusks, hair, everything. No, really.
So, after years of stalling, I've moved most of the kitchen into the living room and after washing down the kitchen walls, my kitchen overhaul is begun. December is a stupid month to do such a task, but I like to think it's a Christmas present from 'moi' to 'moi'.
Earlier today a handyman moved the water supply line for the fridge and added a new electrical outlet so I can put the upcoming new fridge in a new spot. The handyman's fee was mammothly expensive. I won't be hiring any out-of-the-phone-book plumbers or electricians again any time soon. I wish I could work up the brains/courage to undertake such a job on my own, but cannot rid myself of an inner vision: me, found spread eagle on the counter top, wire in one hand and screwdriver in the other, as plumes of black smoke rise from my smoldering carcass.
