Once upon a time there was The Man. This man had a refrigerator. A pretty tall, newish icebox that traveled with him and his family for a few years, going from home-to-home with nary a care and always knowing it would have a home.
Until The Man and his family moved to northern Minnesota and into a 100-year old home. This home's previous tenants were evidently satisfied to live with a gallon of milk, a bottle of salad dressing and a carrot or two. Thus, they had a tiny refrigerator (boo! hiss!) and remodeled the kitchen around it.
But The Man had a plan. He could bring in his jigsaw and just cut the bottom facing piece a little, sand it down, and voila! Presto, change-o, the old/new fridge has a home again.
Except during the all-expense paid travels from home to home, the trusty big fridge had developed, shall we say, a warped sense of humor.
As in, "Hey, you don't know this, but my top is warped and all your measurements are gonna be off. Bwahahahaha! Now you'll have to totally knock out the bottom of the cabinet to make room for me, sucka! Serves you right for keeping me in the garage in that last place."
Insert growling, banging, sawing, sanding, re-sawing, some more sanding, grunting, wedging and pushing. All the while keeping a curious crawler and a trying toddler out of the way, while refereeing Tyson and Holyfield in the other room.
Got it all set up, though, so we breathed a sigh of relief. And then let it out again and growled a little more when we realized that the ornery old thing wasn't cooling. Good thing The Man's father was here and told us it probably just needed to be upright overnight and then it would work again.
Thankfully, the father-in-law was right and now we have all of our goodies in the newish-old fridgie.
The small fridge has a home with The Man's brother, Brandon, and all is well in the kitchen once again.
Next project: refinishing the cabinets in said kitchen. Should be fun.
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