That'll be Seventy Five dollars, please....

So on Monday morning, I open the fridge to get out my cottage cheese and notice that it is rather balmy in there.

I examine the icetray in the freezer and see that global warming has finally hit my icebox.

My refrigerator is silent.

It has died.

I am panic stricken because I now have a fridge full of perfectly good food that I have to do something with. I realize that I have very little time left to make breakfast, get dressed, pack my lunch, check blogs and head off to school. 

Fortunately we have an unheated summer porch right off of the kitchen, so I empty out every dang piece of food and jars of condiments (many) and heave them it out onto the porch.

(What's the shelf life of fish sauce ? ) (Several years, I hope.) (What IS fish sauce?)

I inform Mr. Downeastdoingstuff, who is still recuperating in bed at the moment, that: 

"The refrigerator is dead."

"What????" (I think he only heard the word 'dead'.)

"The fridge has died. I put all the food out onto the porch. Call the repairman. I have to go."

"OK" +  "(unheard comment under his breath)"

Text message later in the day informs me that soonest the repairman can come would be on Wednesday....... two days later!! 

So the temperature on the porch is cold enough for most food, too cold for veggies and not cold enough for ice cream and ice cream sandwiches. But it'll have to do.

Wednesday, the repair man arrives.

He opens up the bottom freezer, turns a knob (that I have never laid eyes on, even while cleaning it), and the dagnabbit thing starts up.

$75 please.

Apparently cramming an ice cream container into an already jam-packed freezer may or may not turn  off the entire refrigerator . Beware.