When we first moved to Cincinnati, we had to purchase a refrigerator. That was a task I was delighted to leave to Dad.
I was very clear about what I did and didn’t want. I wanted the biggest refrigerator that would fit in the space. I didn’t want to be involved in the decision. I knew Dad would want to be sure we had an efficient unit (remember this was 17 years ago, so they weren’t all super efficient).
Dad took his refrigeration responsibility very seriously. He researched, he measured, he measured again. Did I mention the measuring?
On the day we moved into our house (that’s a story for another day), the refrigerator was delivered. Two strong men wheeled it into the kitchen, stripped all the packaging, and slid the refrigerator right into its place. It was perfect. There was about ¼ inch of extra space between the top of the refrigerator and the cabinets. Could not have been better. Yippee!
About half an hour later, we opened the ‘frig door and discovered a problem. The door only opened part way. The kitchen island prevented it from opening fully.
Dad had measured every dimension—except the door swing, because who woulda thunk it would be a problem? Well, probably lots of people, but not us.
The next morning we had the great joy of going back to the store to explain the problem and exchange the refrigerator. Which the store did without issue. Apparently, we were not the first people with this particular bit of brilliance.
For the last 17 years (or so) the ‘frig has done its job. It’s kept food cold (colder in the freezer). It’s housed birthday cake, leftovers, Caffeine Free Diet Coke (trés importante). It’s held pictures, artwork, schedules, recipes, and bills.
And it has finally reached the end of its days. Which means it’s time to find another refrigerator. Which is what tomorrow’s blog is about.
See ya’ tomorrow. Stay cool, dude.