My fridge has died

Yesterday I pulled some soy milk out of the fridge to put into my coffee. The light was on.

Shortly later I reached in to get the beef I had bought to make ropa vieja. Curious…the light is out. Well, I guess the bulb burned out.

I yoinked the bulb and had a look. Huh. Looks good. Let’s see what it does in the oven, which needs a new bulb anyway. Even more curious, the bulb works fine in the oven.

This is where naivete kicks in because I convinced myself that the bulb socket or switch had somehow died. I mean, that makes sense, right? So I put the ropa vieja in the slow cooker and go on my way to a day in the park chasing a four year old who’s infatuated with caterpillers.

This morning I got up, threw on my scruffy robe and slippers and shuffled out to the kitchen. Feed the cat, then open the fridge and grab the bread and marscapone… Huh. Kinda seems like there’s a lack of cold in there. Maybe…you don’t think…? Ah, nuts!

Yes, it’s true. My fridge has died. My fridge has died and it’s a holiday, so the chances that I’ll get a new one today are pretty damn slim. Drat drat drat. I mean, I’d been hoping to clean out the fridge soon anyway but this is not really the motivation I wanted, ya know? Now I have to pick and choose the bits which are valuable enough to me to warrant packing up and carting to the office fridge to be saved and scrapping everything else.

Damn. This really sucks.