Nothing Is Ever Simple (Featuring a Refrigerator and My — GASP! — Underwear)

Location of dents indicated by "x."

 

As with most things in this house, the refrigerator delivery came with both good news and bad news—because why would it ever be just one or the other?

 The good news: the new refrigerator arrived. It is a KitchenAid 26.2 cubic foot, multi-door French door refrigerator with a platinum interior and stainless steel exterior, as I mentioned here. It even has a fingerprint free exterior (something I wasn’t aware of when I bought it), as well as offering up two different kinds of ice – crushed and cubed – something else I wasn’t aware of when I bought it, so I was pretty pleased. In other words, it is beautiful. The delivery crew removed both the front door and the storm door to get it inside, hauled the old refrigerator out without incident, and slid the new one neatly into place. It fits perfectly, which already felt like a small miracle.

 The bad news: everything else.

 First, I was informed that they would not be connecting the water line unless I paid extra. This was surprising, given that my receipt said otherwise, but I decided to put that argument on hold for another day. I have learned to pace myself.

Second...the dents. Over the phone customer service offered money off, but I declined. When I pay for showroom perfection, I don’t want something that looks slightly used. It would be like hiring a hitman and being satisfied with a simple bruise. I am not keeping a visibly dented refrigerator that I plan to look at every day for the foreseeable future. So yes, technically I now have a refrigerator—but practically speaking, I do not, because once the return is scheduled and a new one is on its way, it would be pointless to fill it up with groceries, only to take them all out again.

Still, it’s something.

But wait, there’s more.

 While disconnecting the water line from the old refrigerator, one of the delivery men warned me that a little water might leak onto the floor and asked if I could get him a towel. No problem, I said confidently, heading for the laundry room. I opened the dryer, fully expecting a warm, fluffy load of towels—only to discover that I had outsmarted myself earlier in the day by actually folding the laundry and putting it away. All of it.

 Thinking quickly, I opened the washer, full of yet-to-be-laundered clothes and such, grabbed a towel, and turned back to hand it to him. And that’s when momentum, physics, and fate intervened. Along with the towel, I unintentionally flung a pair of my underwear directly at the poor man.

 The mortification was immediate and complete.

 To his credit, he reacted with admirable professionalism, pretending that nothing unusual had occurred, while I stood there silently questioning every decision I’ve ever made. Somewhere between the refrigerator, the dents, and airborne underwear, I accepted what I probably should have known all along: nothing in this house happens without incident.

 (Those of you who know me personally will recall the time I inadvertently flashed my underwear, in a similar fashion, to the UPS man. That time a dryer was also involved, but the underwear was stuck to the robe that I had quickly pulled on in order to answer the door, rather than flung into his face.)

At least the refrigerator is beautiful. Even if it’s only visiting.