Friday, 4 March 2011

Defrosting the Fridge

This is one of those ‘happy memories’ that brings me joy.

I can’t help laughing at myself, even as I write. I was younger, slimmer, and blonder. The fridge freezer needed to go to the dump. And don’t ask why but I took a hammer and a chisel and started whacking the hell out of the massed frozen ice!

I think I fancied myself as a stone mason as I had sculpted three statues and that’s the best reason I can come up with now, besides it seemed like a jolly good idea at the time, until a violent whoosh of gas parted my hair, leaving a cold damp trail across my scalp.

I ducked! Luckily, I covered my mouth and didn’t breathe any of the noxious substance. The gas kept pumping into the kitchen. I switched off the fridge & closed the kitchen door. Then I rang my local fire station. Not the 999 emergency number! To ask what I should do…

As I hung up I heard the first wailing siren, quickly followed by a second anxious warning bell. I stood still in the hallway and gulped, oh hell I hope there not coming here.

With hindsight I would have worn a different outfit, something flattering because I wore: paint covered baggy short shorts, a grungy t-shirt, some old pumps and no make up as twelve burly firemen tumbled into my tiny house to inspect the fridge that had been unfairly attacked with vicious implements.

Soon after this the third fire engine from my nearest town turned up! Nobody could move for tenders in our street. Another six handsome strapping men piled out into my tiny packed house and I could not move for a sea of hunky firemen, quite possibly not looking my most desirable.

The damaged fridge freezer was removed effortlessly by these gorgeous guys as I tried vainly to blend with the wallpaper in my kitchen, a little floral number that looked like a meadow, but it was hard because the firemen were genuinely concerned for my health, as they asked: 'do you realise that what you did was dangerous?'

Apparently I had endangered myself! And possibly the neighbourhood…

Two of the younger, good-looking firemen introduced themselves, they recognised me from work! Oh shazbat.

The shame walking on to the shop floor at work the next day, I glowed crimson and I’m sure they smiled as I blushed.

1 comment:

  1. And the moral of the story is, next time you feel the need to build ice sculptures, go for a full make-over first.

    Thanks for the chuckle, it's a great lesson in avoiding near-disasters really.