The Purging Lutheran predicts I will soon move away from the kitchen and its purgeables. Soon. Very soon.
Attached to our refrigerator is an ice maker that rivals that neighbor down the street who never seems to stop puttering around the house (his, not yours). Our ice maker has a lever that tells it to stop making ice but it can’t keep itself from producing one last dump of ice after the lever has done its job.
Audience question: What does any of this have to do with a frozen dinner, dude?
TPL answer: I’m getting to it. Hold your horse, fella.
So, the ice maker lets loose and the ice container overloads. I pull the container out, dump the ice in the sink and place the container back in the freezer.
(here is the “BAH-Bah-baaaah!” of the story)
There’s a space about 2″ wide between the ice maker and the refrigerator where we had a couple tv dinners stowed on ends upright. I pulled one out and noticed it was spongy to the touch. It turns out this a warm spot between the two parts of the refrigerator.
Our freezer has been living a lie all these years.
People who shrug off deliberate deceptions,
saying, “I didn’t mean it, I was only joking,”
Are worse than careless campers
who walk away from smoldering campfires.