Terminal

The bread wasn't frozen when I went to make toast. That was the first clue. The celery is limp. Clue #2. Oh... something's wrong with our fridge.
I'm no mechanic and neither is my sweet man so, I called the Fridge Doctor. He had the best ad in the Yellow pages and sounded really nice on the phone. He came last night.
"It's terminal. I've done all I can. Your fridge is dead."

Really? My fridge is but 2 1/2 years old.
The warranty expired in May.

Trevor went to the place we bought it to lay the smackdown on the dealer. He brought Simon for a little extra muscle. The dealer is getting us new guts for the fridge. We should get a loaner fridge... maybe Monday. Until then, it's lukewarm carrots, chunky milk and meat that I'm afraid of. Good thing we'll be dining out for the next 2 nights.