Yesterday, after much deliberation and trolling Craigslist, we bought a new-to-us refrigerator. The one we’ve had for the last five years is 18 cubic feet. Small. We measured our space available, and headed out. We bought one that’s 25 cubic feet, water and ice in the door… in short, everything the one I’ve had isn’t. With plans to put that in the kitchen and move the small one to the basement, we headed home.
And then. Those 35 inches we have for our fridge aren’t. With an old and somewhat (or significantly, depending on where you check) malformed home that wasn’t built exactly square, the fridge, despite removal of trim (Trim that was finally nail, caulked, and painted just mere weeks ago, mind you.) and trimming of kitchen cabinet, it. won’t. fit.
And so the new fridge goes to the garage. That was a hard pill to swallow. It’ll serve us just fine down there. The little one fits great upstairs. It’s just not what I wanted. No ice, no water, no freezer that the kids can easily reach.
It’s an extra fridge. We got it for a good price. We have food abundant to put in it and more than we ever deserve.
But it’s been a painful lesson.