Thanks to Munga, our 1970s kitchen has officially entered the 21st century (or started to, at least — baby steps, people).
As Clark Griswold would say (a patron saint in my family), “Hallelujah. Holy Shit. Where’s the Tylenol?”
I literally lived six months with the same Montgomery Ward fridge we had in my house as a kid. The house that was built by my parents.
It leaked water out the bottom, needed the drawers reconstructed with cardboard, and may have been responsible for the electrical short that happened in our kitchen over the summer… I don’t know. But we (I should say, *I*, because Trent was only mildly pissed at the fridge; I wanted to cry every time I opened it) RESISTED THE URGE to buy a fridge we couldn’t afford on credit. And now we have attained “GOAL: BUY A NEW FRIDGE, DAMMIT” via a Christmas miracle. Named Munga.
When we moved in to our “special” house, CA Mom kindly scoured the evil fridge to death and broke some of the nasty old brown plastic off the handles so that just the chrome underneath was left, in an effort to make me forget it was the same fridge my mom used to stock Tab cola and Gorton’s fish sticks in when I was in grade school. And that helped — really, it did. It got me through to now: the start of the holiday season. The time when our appliance angel sent word from Detroit that, after coming to visit and seeing for herself that the fridge was INDEED the same fridge she bought from Montgomery Ward 35 years ago, well… We were getting a Christmas present.
And yeah, our stove was basically just as bad, so we were getting one of those, too. We just had to follow Grandpa Sam’s instructions for dickering with the appliance salespeople.
By the way… Here’s an updated list of why the people who lived in this house before us are a.) stupid and b.) ridiculous:
- They lived in a house on a hill six blocks from the Hayward fault with a cracked foundation and didn’t care
- While they didn’t care, they spent $6500 on a set of period windows to close in their porch; uhh…
- They put in a deck and left out the FLASHING BEHIND THE LEDGER BOARD, totally turning the back of the house into SPONGE (which holds up well in an earthquake)
- They never snaked the clean-out hole for their drain pipe which FORCED THE SLUDGE FROM THEIR GARBAGE DISPOSAL THROUGH OUR BEDROOM CEILING
- They lived basically forever with a FRIDGE AS OLD AS ME (because who needs a working fridge when you have pointless period windows?)
- At some point in time, they dropped their cordless phone behind the stove, and apparently said, “Well shit — that’s gone.”
So, after staring with angst at the magnets spelling out “BUY A NEW FRIDGE DAMMIT” on the nasty old fridge for almost six months, this weekend I officially transferred just “NEW FRIDGE DAMMIT” to the modern appliance that now graces our kitchen and makes the whole thing look decidedly less seventies.
Well, starts to make the whole thing look decidedly less seventies.
BABY STEPS, people. Baby steps in cash, and via Christmas angels…