At first I thought my husband was just trying to murder me.

It was a pretty unremarkable Sunday morning when I opened the fridge and a Diet Coke flew out and exploded towards me. Like shrapnel. Diet Coke shrapnel.

I screamed and hit the floor. Really.

My son laughed. He thought it was hilarious. Right up until the time I pulled the gallon of milk out for his first morning glass.

FROZEN SOLID.

After explaining to him that ,”Karma’s a bitch, dude”, I began sorting through the fridge, item by item.

I yelled to my husband…

OMG! The whole fridge is like the freezer!!

Beer? Frozen.

Baby spinach? Look! Totally frozen.

Jar of pickled jalapenos? Frozen.

LOOK BABE! Look at the jalapenos. Look how frozen they are.

Mustard? Hmm. Not frozen. Hey, babe, did you know that mustard doesn’t freeze or something? Wow, neither does ketchup. Babe, did you know that condiments don’t freeze? I wonder if scientists know that? I should be a scienctist. Shit, I should have my PhD for as long as I spent in college.

Babe?

My husband looked up from his paper. Mostly.

* blinks *

Ahhhhh,  just call someone about the fridge tomorrow babe.

This was in late January.

And last week?

The beer, the diet cokes, the poor little baby spinach, the jalapenos?

All still frozen.

(Curiously enough the condiments still remain very much not frozen.)

I have dealt with three appliance repair companies.

I have been screwed by three appliance repair companies.

Completely lied to. Two unneeded parts. Another part that was not only unneeded, it was fake.

So, I finally decided to call a small, mom and pop type company.

The next day, a tiny blue pick-up truck pulled up in front of my house. A really old man, wearing Dickies head to toe, stepped out of the car and began walking slowly up my sidewalk.

Four days later, he knocked on the door.

After taking my entire refrigerator apart, he told me he knew what was up. He even showed me.

I was so excited and I just didn’t hide it.

“THAT MAKES SO MUCH SENSE!!” I LOVE YOU SO MUCH! BUT, YOU KNOW THIS MEANS I HAVE TO COOK AGAIN, RIIIIIGHT?! THANKS A LOT, GAH! *WINK WINK, NUDGE NUDGE*”

*Silence*

OK mam, I need to order a part, I’ll be back next week.

That part was installed last week.

Now? Everything in my fridge besides the condiments is still frozen.

Like, I could murder someone by hitting them over the head with a carton of orange juice, type frozen.

Basically, I have owned just a freezer since January.

We’ve  got our system down, though.

We know that stuff on the top shelf freezes the quickest. The drawers down below the slowest.

I have been making trips to the store to buy what we need for the day.

On a side note, if my husband makes the “we are on war rations” joke one more time, I’m going to junk punch him.

I called the sweet old man on Tuesday and, desperate not to hurt his feelings, told him “This darn fridge just doesn’t wanna work! *nervous laugh *”

He said he would be here on Wednesday.

Then on Thursday he said he would be here on Friday.

It’s Monday. He hasn’t come back.

I called him today and he said “I have your ticket right here, do you want me to come back, mam?

Ummmm, yes please?

He said he would be here tomorrow.

Right now I don’t care so much about refrigerator science, though.

Luca had two firsts today.

An ear infection. And projectile vomiting.

He pulled a little toddler exorcist when I got him up from his nap. Puked all over his crib, my bed, my floors, my body, my bathroom, my bathrobe, and himself.

As I ran with him to the toilet, I caught a glimpse of one of our dogs licking Luca’s vomit off my hardwoods. I was totally all ewwwwww and thankssss at the same time. One less thing for me to clean, but I shall avoid french kissing my dog till after he has had his Milkbone teeth brushed.

I got to the doctor this afternoon reeking like vomit.

And apparently? Like DOG PISS.

In my mad dash to get Luca to the doctor, I grabbed a shirt off the floor to throw on that had been pissed on by one of the dogs.

I didn’t realize this for about three hours. Around the time I was at Walgreens and thought the pharmacist had surely pissed himself.

And then the cashier.

Nope.

I followed the scent all the way down to my shoulder and upper sleeve.

Motherfucking dog pee.

All over me.

Obviously.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am going to go stick my head in the freezer fridge and try to chill out for a little bit.