Our freezer has been rather full of more than frozen food for a goodly while,
and today was the day to finally break the ice.
For this, the most adventurous of household maintenance chores,
we attacked. But gently, lest we harm a cooling pipe or punch through a wall.
Our weapons a single salad server, and the wooden end of a plastic spatula,
traded periodically when the whim overtook us.
When no more would be loosened, we'd pry ourselves away,
only to come back to the sound of calving ice shortly thereafter.
My ice-picking companion had, it turns out, never defrosted in this active way,
and I felt like a true pioneer, my enjoyment enhanced by his novice enthusiasm.
Now the ice is largely gone, leaving only residual dripping
which should subside by the morning, to be finally wiped dry.
Leaving me with a clear freezer and fond domestic memories.
Is this not how everyone in suburbia spends their Saturday nights?
*Not my refrigerator/freezer, but one I keep seeing in stores, where we go looking at washing machines. If I had a reason to get a new fridge, I'd have to consider this one; it calls to me.*