Defrost a refrigerator together. Especially if that refrigerator is a Samsung and you are in the habit of defrosting it several times a year. I hate our refrigerator. The fan “freezes” up and then it slowly gets warmer in there (but only the fridge, not the freezer). My wonderfully versatile and skilled husband can fix it. So every couple of months I empty the fridge and he pulls the interior back panel off and proceeds to blow a hot hair dryer on it for a half hour to thaw the block of ice that has formed around the fan. I assist with ice chunk collection or, in yesterday’s case, duck when he throws it at the kitchen sink.

Well. It’s been several months since we’ve had to do this and we know why and when it happened and neither of us has dared to say anything out loud since the day it happened. My mom gave us this monstrous, industrial-sized air fryer a while back and one night I used to it to make French fries. It blew out the circuit and subsequently the refrigerator shut off. After that, the refrigerator worked like a dream. And it was a dream, until this week when it started its slow decline once again.

Anyway, he mentioned the fridge cleanout midweek and that maybe we could do it after work on Friday night and so then I was dreading it all day. Usually I can compartmentalize my shit when I’m at work but Friday was difficult because he. Kept. Sending. Me. Emails. With. Pics. Of. New. Refrigerators. With the subject line, “Refrigerators are expensive.” Because OF COURSE they are.

Anyway, I drove home and tippy-toed around the possibility by pouring a glass of Basil Hayden and Todd was sufficiently distracted by that and his own conversation that I got out of project Samsung for another day. However, Saturday morning came and it was time to get the job done. So Todd was saying he was feeling anxiety/uneasy (empath) and I assured him that, in spite of my hatred for our degenerate refrigerator, it wasn’t me. You know what you need? I asked. And then I pressed play on the song I’d been saving for just this occasion. And you know, all you need is the first few beats of easily the most recognizable song ever and YOU KNOW it’s Sexual Healing.

Okay so a bit of background on this diversion. If you have Sirius XM, you may have heard the ad for Get Roman. The latest one has a man and woman talking about stuff like, we could do this… or…. we could …. (cue sexy-time music) Clean out the refrigerator. Naturally I found this hilarious and so I planned to incorporate this into our Saturday morning chore and that’s how I entertain my husband.

We were both very enthusiastic about what was going to return to the fridge and what could be stored in our second fridge downstairs. Only things we regularly use, we said. Only ice cream and soup in the freezer upstairs, we said. Priorities are sexy, ya’ll.

And, also, I might have found my new mating call for the otherwise oblivious husband. Hashtag sexy grooves. Because standing in the doorway of the bathroom buck-ass naked – just standing there – is not enough. He literally walked right by – his nose in his phone reading emails – and never once looked in my direction. He got halfway down the hallway before I said, REALLY? He said, what? And walked back in STILL READING MESSAGES. It would be sad if it weren’t so funny. Hashtag we’re-not-16-anymore.

Home renovation projects. So yesterday, you may recall, was The Day Todd started replacing the stairs. He had spent a few weeks planing the wood and staining and poly-ing and yesterday he installed the first set of steps and my GOD they look beautiful. But first there was the sanding of the existing stairs and there was much shouting but it was happy shouting not angry shouting so that was good.

He did mention last week about me helping but I managed to get out of that project by finishing the painting of the laundry room. (The laundry room, one of the few pandemic projects that actually got done, was damaged when a pipe broke last fall. New drywall and a doors.)

However, we both accomplished big things yesterday and the feeling of satisfaction carried through the night to the couch with a celebratory bottle of wine and Boba Fett on the telly. And, because I agreed to sit downstairs instead of the couch upstairs with the problem spot he complains about every night, it was altogether a pleasant evening that culminated in both of us…. passing out cold before 10.

Allow nothing to come between you. Including a blog post. Like this one. It’s been a work in progress for nine hours and I’m certain not my best work given the myriad of interruptions I’ve had.

Stay tuned for more tips.