The refrigerator is giving me the hairy eyeball. Not as bad as the old fridge, which would burp foul stenches and frost over the lettuce regularly, letting me know that I needed to get out the chisel and hot water to attack the freezer. This lovely new fridge (bought in 2006) is still sparkly white on the outside, despite DH and Mimi trying to add “decorations” to it. You know the sort of decorations … pumpkin soup, margarine, Vegemite, blackberry jam. Never fear, I can Mr Sheen that sort of stuff into submission.
The thing I don’t want to do is to take out all the heavy glass shelves and scrub them. That would entail reaching into the farthest recesses to find things like a can of Tasmanian beer from 2003 (ie it was in the old fridge, fer cryin’ out loud!), a tin of pineapple that nobody really wants to eat, a jar of mayonnaise that has been open for over 6 months, and so on. Then, of course, it would be time to deal with the vegie crisper. What a treat! Again, it’s heavy and unwieldy and a pill to pull out and clean. I could visit the miniature tomatoes that rolled under the old bag of carrots to mate in an unattractive way with seedless green grapes, sharing their blue fluff o’doom.
Nope, I still haven’t convinced myself to do it. I have a couple of library books that I have to read, three cats that need grooming, labels to put on Mimi’s clothes, shoes to clean and washing to put away.