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Baby it’s cold, wait, nevermind, it’s not.

October 14, 2014

Raise your hand if you remember the great and terrifying Sussman appliance apocalypse in the Spring of 2013. It was one sad week which saw the demise of our washer, dryer, refrigerator and dishwasher. We replaced them all in one trip to Home Depot. A few days later we had to replace the garbage disposal because the dishwasher installer broke the old one but I digress.

The stove became the Grand Dame of the household appliances. I whispered about the others when I was near her and told her every single day how pretty she was and how dearly I loved her. In hindsight perhaps I killed her with kindness.

Three weeks ago she just up and quit as I was to embark on an all day cooking extravaganza for our first dinner party in months. Well, poop on you OLD stove, who needs ya? My daughter and I prepared an amazing feast (if I do say so myself, which I just did) using only the toaster oven, the grill, the microwave and two crockpots.

The dishwasher at some point in time had decided that she would only complete a wash if we ran the 2 hour 47 minute “super” cycle. I made the unilateral executive decision to just run the super cycle and if the minions forgot and she stalled with an error code I would throw in another detergent pod, top off her “Jet Dry” (the crack cocaine of the dishwasher world) and tell her how pretty she was then reset her to run again.

Being the professional level procrastinator that I am I haven’t called for service. I. Am. The. Worst. Wife. EVER.

This morning I noticed a small puddle of something that looked like poodle diarrhea (YES, I actually am an expert in identifying that particular substance) next to the fridge in the kitchen so I wiped it up and, as is my duty – NO, MY DIVINE RIGHT – as poodle queen, I sniffed it.


It was purple-brownish and had a decidedly fruity aroma.

I opened the freezer and immediately had PTSD from the appliance apocalypse. Everything was melted.


The ice bin held a tiny ocean with a few floaty cubes, the frozen waffles and bag of frozen wontons were soft, the ice cream was goo. All the frozen veggies were dripping, soft bags. The Popsicles had melted and, along with my homemade frozen Sangria, were the cause of the goo on the floor.

The fridge seemed cold, though and so I deemed it ok and I made a mental note to call for service, LATER, and took the opportunity to deep clean, throwing everything in the freezer away, except 3 lbs of chicken breasts which I flung in the crockpot for soup, which BTW… amazeballs.

With the freezer clean I went about my errands for the day. Included in my errands: over $300 worth of easily microwaveable pre-prepared refrigerated meals (duh, no ovey no cooky) and some refrigerator only staples, grass-fed butter, organic half and half, artichoke/jalepeno dip, cheese and an anti-pasto tray that I bought to try so we could see if it was good enough for big entertaining scheduled in 2 weeks.

Daughter and I put it all away and I took a post Costco nap. The smell of my “let’s make the best of a bad sitch soup” filling the house.

Husband arrived home around 9:30 and we discussed my appliance woes. He ever so gently suggested that tomorrow I call for service. I nodded… Yes, honey. Then we discovered, TO OUR HORROR, that not only was the room temperature freezer not cool, the refrigerator wasn’t either. In fact, it was warm. All that Costco food… Over six hours… Above 50 degrees…

You may be physically ill now. I was.

We threw out so much stuff I wanted to cry. Condiments, eggs, hard boiled eggs, all my pickle friends, cheeses, olives, yummy leftovers, the pre-prepared Costco dinners which were supposed to buy me another week until I had to call for service. I stood at the sink grinding up the contents of So. Many. Jars. Husband gathered the stuff we thought would be ok and moved it to the garage fridge. The only happy thought was that in the time it took me to clean out all those jars, the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, relocated to the garage fridge was FINALLY cold: 34 degrees- Hello brain freeze, good night moon.

So tomorrow I call for service. I promise: refrigerator, stove and what the heck, dishwasher, too.

I know, first world problems. That’s all I got.

Ninety nine problems and a fridge ain’t one. Oh, wait… Yes, it is.

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