Fridge-be-gone

Bit by bit this house is starting to feel like home. Yesterday I was sitting in the living room and suddenly said “You know, if we have a daughter someday and she gets picked up by her prom date, we’ll be taking their pictures in front of this fireplace.” (While mentally I was adding: assuming she doesn’t pick her date up at his house, or at her house; assuming she has any interest in prom; assuming the world hasn’t melted in on itself like a cheap candle by then and we’ve all gone feral and are living in the yard without power or running water.) It was curiously heartwarming to think of having lived here for twenty years and watching my daughter go off to her big grownup dance. I got quite choked up.

Today someone from Craigslist is coming to haul the old fridge out of the basement that’s been here since we moved in. (This is a different fridge from the one that was in the kitchen when we moved in, or the one we got from Adam and Christine, or the kegerator that we got after that. We are peculiarly rich in fridges.) It’s one more step towards making this house ours. Plus, now I will finally have the space to create a Pinterest-worthy laundry situation:

I just have to add a bunch of natural light to the basement and install some countertops and we’re all set. (This is a joke; that’s obvious, right? The only way to add natural light to the basement would be to take the house off.) Although actually I’ve never understood why people want to create “folding counters” and stuff near their laundry machines. Do people seriously stand and fold all their laundry right out of the dryer? People, you put your dry laundry in the basket and you haul it upstairs and you fold it while watching TV. This is the American way. Get wise.

Anyway, first the yard, now the fridge — inch by inch, we are taking this house over. Be told, house! We are in you!