As a new bride, I had managed not to burn the water too severely and was becoming quite masterful with macaroni and cheese from a package. There were many days that a can of brown beans was added to that dish without scorching them beyond edibility.
My next challenge was to be tomorrow–the defrosting of the refrigerator. My landlady, upon questioning, had said there were no manuals for it. She did not volunteer more information about that task. Not wanting to press the issue, I tried to peek at her collection of books about housekeeping. Alas, only cookbooks were in her modest library.
Casting my mind back to my childhood, I recalled the icebox in the kitchen. That didn’t help, because the ice just melted—it didn’t build up the coating that had appeared on this much larger appliance. “I’ll think about that tomorrow,” I parroted Scarlett O'Hara.
Tomorrow came all too soon.
As I was bidding ‘my husband’ (that was such a delightful coupling of words) to have a good day, he commented, “Now I understand you’re going to defrost the fridge. The way you do …”
“Don’t you believe I know how to do that?”
“How stupid, do you think I am?” was my indignant retort to his unwelcome tutorial.
After he left, my thoughts turned to the formidable milestone.
“Hmmm, let me see, ice melts, so it makes sense that I should unplug it.” I pulled the cord, depriving it of its energy to make ice.
Then I commenced to tidy the rest of our remarkable abode.
About noon, I checked to see its progress by opening the door.
There was a copious amount of water inside!
“No problem, guess it must be almost done.” With sponge in hand, that was soon cleaned up. Pleasingly, my next chore was to go to the Laundromat that was conveniently only a block away.
There were no other ladies there that afternoon to ask. Pity, because there would have been no shame in revealing my lack of enlightenment about that job to a complete stranger.
Upon returning at 2:00, tea was in order. But, much to my amazement, upon getting the cooling milk for my beverage out of the refrigerator, there was more water inside. “Oops, silly me ... I guess it takes more than a couple of hours before its finished!”
About 4:00, a leak appeared under the door. But this time, there was only a small pool inside.
My coffee break with the downstairs landlady was a welcome break. She was my elder, but not wanting to betray my naiveté, there was no mention of my upstairs defrosting ordeal.
Soon, it was time to begin to prepare dinner for my returning spouse.
There was another puddle of water leaking from it!
“When, will you be done?” I wanted to scream at it!
“A towel to absorb the leakage is what is needed here,” as the mop-up routine was repeated.
At 6:00 p.m. the towel was removed–it was annoyingly wet!
At 6:30 the second towel was removed–it was only damp.
At 7:00, the third towel was almost dry and safe to remove.
And just in time too, because the sound of approaching steps on the stairway were now beckoning toward my returning partner.
Haydn was pleased to greet me with an eager kiss.
He cheerfully asked, “How did the defrosting go?” My eyes darted to what had become my Waterloo as yet another pond had seeped my betrayal.
My tears welled. The flood broke and the anguish surged forth. “I’ve been mopping it up all day. There must be something wrong with it! It just will not stop defrosting.” “Look, its doing it again!”
“Did you put a pan under the drain hole?”
“Hole?”
“It has a hole in it?”
He hurried to the pantry, picking the first pot off the shelf. At the same time, he gently eased the electrical cord back in, opened the door and put the pan under the freezer opening.
“Do they all have holes?”
“Yes dear, they all have a drain hole, that is how the water drains when they are being defrosted.”
“Oh!” The rain of tears poured again.
His arms enfolded me and kissed the aquaeous enemy away.
