Foolish Pride

The new, for us, apartment in London was enchanting. It was an upstairs duplex consisting of a living room, large bathroom, bedroom and a huge kitchen with a walk-in pantry, stove and an ‘electric’ refrigerator. Those rooms marked a transition from a simpler lifestyle to that of a married woman. Pots and pans, dishes, and everything else that makes a household functional were eagerly accumulated, including a vacuum cleaner. Everything was new. My fresh role as a home administrator held vast tracts of complete unfamiliarity.

It had been completely furnished with a trip to All-Star Furniture on Dundas Street, for the grand sum of $399.00. At that time, much to Haydn’s surprise, I had spoken up and managed to barter two living room lamps that were thrown in at no extra charge. We had splurged on the purchase of a 17” RCA cabinet-style television.

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 sneak a look 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 rationalized.

Tomorrow came all too soon.

As I was bidding ‘my husband’ (that was such a delightful coupling of words) good day, he commented, “Now I understand you’re going to defrost the fridge today. The way you do …”

“Don’t you believe I know how to do that?”

Indignity arose to replace reason, “How stupid, do you think I am?”

After he left, my thoughts turned to the formidable task of mastering the assignment.

“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 more ice.

Then I commenced to tidy the rest of our remarkable abode.

About noon, I checked to see how it was doing by opening the door.

There was plentiful water inside!

“No problem, guess it must be almost done,” thought I. 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 task to a complete stranger.


Upon returning at 2:00, tea was in order. But, much to my amazement, upon getting the milk to cool my beverage out of the refrigerator, there was more water in the fridge. “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 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’s needed here,” reasoned I, 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 welcoming 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 pool had seeped my betrayal.

My foolishness at trying to pretend that I was other than a neophyte at being a wife immediately abandoned me as the tears welled. The flood broke and my 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 at it … 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 exits when they are being defrosted.”

“Oh!” The rain of tears gushed again.

His arms enfolded me and kissed them away.