The fridge is actually IN the house (yes … it’s true). And I’m still married despite it.

For those of you who have no idea what I’m (Carol) talking about, read previous blogs for clues.

Seriously. Getting the over-sized appliance in the door was way more painful than getting my dear hubby to agree to it in the first place. Here is the score:

1. 12 (the number of guys it took to get it in the door).
2. 3 (the number of visits the 12 guys, 4 at a time, had to visit our new home to make said delivery a success).
3. 28 (the number of dirty looks my husband gave me during those 3 visits from the 12 guys).
4. “Are you upset, sir?” (direct quote from one of the handsome young men who carefully noted my dear husband’s nonverbals as he watched them give up after attempt #2 to get big fridge in the door). I promptly explained, “Yes, he’s upset. But not with you.”
5. 29000 (the lbs of spinach and other goodness I hope to fill the new fridge with, as soon as it’s officially “hooked up” – yes, I know the 20-something meaning of term. Seriously. Stop it).

Instead, please pray (for me) that the dang fridge will actually cool items and make ice once it’s plugged in tomorrow. Seriously. I’m worried.

Stay tuned.