The WTF

Between the Ranch and Town, we have a mess of refrigerators - 4.5. And we are actively seeking deep freezers. Several, in fact.

The Town fridge is serious, pretentious, spacious stainless so only the sides have magnets, cartoons & such frippery that tell you a bit about the occupants. Strangely enough, it has more attached personality than any other form of cooling about...until lately.

But only one Refrigerator has a name, the WTF - the White Trash Fridge. He adorns the wrap around veranda of the log cabin on the Ranch. But of course, he holds strong beverages, weaker beverages, mixers, and as an oddity to him, but regular occupant, homemade stock.

The WTF longs for but two things.

Most importantly he seeks a mate, an old open-hearted tub wringer-washer to host a wealth of ice and long-necks. If the union is fruitful, a few ginger-ales and Coca-Colas would be a welcome addition. But the Ranch life doesn't make for many introductions, and the Fence Post or other agricultural publications haven't sported many personal advertisements that have led to a successful match.

Secondly, the WTF wants art. Bonifide fridge art, the kind attached with sassy and even utilitarian magnets.

The WTF began life in a fancy condominium in Beaver Creek Resort and became accustomed to the finer things in life. After a remodel, he was downgraded to a barely above a mobile home park condo development called Sunridge II. He languished there for some years, though he lived with a sexy ebony Jenn-Aire range and an avid home chef before they all three upgraded to much superior townhome development. You see the WTF was an Energy Star and he traveled with the home chef just as did the Jenny range. But the WTF was upgraded, and it was a racist decision. He was the wrong color, beige - a near almond. He didn't match the new place. And he landed on the porch of a Ranch because he was an inch to wide to fit inside in the primitive kitchen there. So high, then low, raised again, and then brought lower than a trailer park - a porch! And he lost Jenny in the bargain. "Jeeeeeeennnnny!!!!"

And for two years he has languished. A few deer jokes have been taped on his doors. Something about gas costing more than per gallon than beer, nothing of class. The snowblower has been a mean and fickle in her rounds, so no hint of romance.

Woe.

Without the logs stacked against his side he'd be alone. At least the view is lovely.

Photo by Keith F. Galloway.