Saturday, October 18

Brand, spanking new ...

... fridge. My parents arrived last Sunday for lunch and to take away the old fridge (it's taken me almost a week to download pics, hey, I've been on holiday). I'd spent an hour on Saturday clearing (result - a bagful of magnets and assorted paperwork) and cleaning the outside, yuck. I cannot imagine HOW the far side of the fridge got covered in cat hair, I've decided not to think about it. And we will NEVER speak of the state of the floor underneath. Never.
And then the walls were scrubbed - whitewashed brick sounds lovely but it's a bastard for dust collecting, that greasy kitchen dust (shudder). And the yellowing, bah, worse than pure cotton sheets. Further hours were spent Sunday morning, clearing out the insides and packing it all into eskys. And then cleaning the inside out too. Not so bad, although there was something sticky, nasty and unidentifiable on the bottom of the freezer section. Mr Brown guessed ear wax or brown heroin. Neither appealed.
Still old one gone and lovely newbie sitting in his spot.Just waiting to be filled with goodies, and LOTS of them.


cookiecrumb said...

Greasy kitchen dust. The plague of -- having a kitchen, I guess.
How nice that your parents got the cleaned-up discard.

Darling, tell me that you write for more than a blog. You are... verbal.

Ms Brown Mouse said...

One day the greasy kitchen dust will be dealt with by way of a killer-suck-o-master, over-the-stove, air filter thing. One day.
I used to write for newspapers, as you know. Now I write briefings, policy and sundry other crapulence for joyless bureaucrats who suck the fun out of words. They, for instance, insist on changing “before” to “prior to”, but won’t let me retaliate with “posterior to” instead of “after”. Bastards. Still, for the most part, they are wildly impressed that I can write at all, a simple, bog-standard, basic skill I believe, but dazzles nonetheless. Still, pays the mortgage and keeps the cats fed with the fancy, tiny-tinned “gourmet” stuff.

cookiecrumb said...

Well, I love you and your wordy posterior.