Good news first, my turnip
My fiancée, little gooseberry, let me tell you the good news first:
I did not buy this refrigerator online today. Even though on the inside, it is a robin’s egg, and it opens with a FOOT PEDAL.
Wasn’t that good of me?
I know to you, my legume, “vintage refrigerator” means “that which is 60 years old, 600 pounds and does not keep food cold”, but let’s not be hasty! They are porcelain-coated and shiny. They have door handles that would make a cadillac feel flimsy. Their heft and squatness ensures they are not carried off by burglars very often at all.
Also, when I see something like this…
…I feel the need to put all my food in it right away.
But, pet, I restrained myself. I remembered that we already have a 56-year old beauty of our own to keep food at a deliciously precarious 55 degrees. I recognized the dangerous redundancy in giving in to the siren’s song of the “buy me now!” button.
We did NOT, however, have the pint-sized version made of tin:
which I am writing to tell you that I have rectified.
It’s everything I love about the way they kept food cold in the 1950s, without the need to explain to my loved ones the presence of a second refrigerator in my bedroom closet. It has working door handles and hinges. It has space inside on its wee little shelves and freezer for all of my whimsies thimble-sized or smaller. It has an itty bitty teeny-weeny plug, though I don’t expect you to understand why that makes me a wild, irrational beast of a roommate.
Switching to tactics that will resonate: it’s a mere 13 inches tall and made of tin, which makes it compact, lightweight and energy efficient. It won’t defrost itself all over the linoleum, go through lightbulbs like they’re going out of style, or singlehandedly provide financial security to the local electric company. It’s like I did this thing with you in mind, my radish.
Which is why I’m pretty sure, due to the fact that I’ve run out of space in the kitchen, living room and laundry room, we’re going to keep it in your study.