One of the main sources of strife in this house is ice. Either I’m happy Chris brought some home, or pissed I have to go get some, it’s all melted and dripping everywhere, it’s hot I’m thirsty and THERES NO ICE. Why do we never have ice? Why can’t we just have ice like normal people? It’s a rollercoaster ya’ll and I’m not helping.

I’m pleased to announce, however, that I have unleashed onto this kitchen my last sudden onset of Ice Rage. After running away from home to Best Buy* in response, my husband returned with a refrigerator balanced on his back like Atlas, man of stainless steele – a vision of strength and dual cooling power to the rescue. Yes, not only do we have a shiny new silver side-by-side with delicious filtered water and a touchscreen – we have ICE ladies and germs. Crushed. Cubed. At your service. In the door. I am beside myself, this is HUGE. So women of the world, the lesson here is stick to your guns. Nag your man, don’t give up when his ears bleed and his eyes bug out – thats exactly where you want him… Oh sorry, I must have spaced out to the sweet sweet sound of ice cubes forming then falling, forming then falling…

*Also known as the battered husband’s shelter.
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