So, here’s the plan. I’m going to unplug it for 24 hours. Let it think about its life choices. That’s the universal fix for everything, right? Like rebooting a computer, but for a box that stores your eggs.
If that fails, I’ll vacuum the back of it. I’ll pretend I’m a fridge doctor performing open-heart surgery. “Scalpel.” “Cloth.” “Dust bunny removed.” I’ll narrate the whole thing dramatically. It might not help, but it’ll make me feel like I have control.
And if all else fails, I’ll just start calling it a “food cabinet.” My expectations will be lower, and my cheese can live a short, warm, honest life. I’ll embrace it. Acceptance is the first step. Or maybe it’s just the step where you start eating lunch out of a cooler bag on your desk.
Either way, my mini fridge is still not cold. But I am. I’m full of disappointment. And I’m going to go jiggle the cord one more time. For old times’ sake.
