I see you there, on the internet, taunting me with your retro styling & colors, and your obscene price tag. Someday, you will be mine. And I will be living in the cardboard box you arrive in. Until that day, expensive refrigerator, just know that I am thinking of you. Every time you go home with someone else, someone wealthy, I know you realize in your cold, cold heart that he could never love you the way I do. He will never stock your freezer compartments with tater tots, if you understand my metaphor.* I see you ship with “automatic moisture control.” That’s just because you’ve never been with me, baby.
Why, refrigerator? Why must you be so expensive? Our love is like Romeo & Juliet, where I am a Montague & you are something a Montague would have to sell his baby to afford. And don’t think I haven’t considered it, my sleek retro fetish object. Apparently there are laws against this sort of thing, laws that the missus is only too familiar with. What’s that you say, my darling refrigerator? Yes, that’s true… if she were out of the picture, then it’d be just you and me. And the LBC, and the pugs.
Your 20.9 cubic feet of chilled storage space could never contain my boundless affections. Someday we shall be together & I will melt all the ice in your freezer faster than your internal ice maker can replace it. The current model in my kitchen is a shallow harlot, she cannot hold a candle to your majesty, your 2 half-width clear crisper pans and your Energy Star compliance…
What kind of cruel God would allow a refrigerator like you to exist and yet not provide me with the means to own you?
* Not an actual metaphor – I loves me some tots!