It’s bad enough that the regurgitator seems to be on its last legs. I mean ice cubes are supposed to be frozen, right? I also managed to arrive at work today with no lunch. Oh, I had the bag. There was just nothing in it. It’s okay. It was just a peanut butter sandwich. It’ll survive forever, even in a dead regurgitator. I know. Once when I was in junior high, I accidentally ate a 2-week-old peanut butter sandwich that had gotten lost in my locker, then resurfaced and exchanged itself with my current lunch. I did not get sick and The Commander is still laughing about it. But here I thought I was ahead of the game, making enough peanut butter sandwiches for the week on Sunday morning. Roight.

It’s never a good time for a major appliance to die but I cannot figger out why whenever I start feeling like I am just around the corner from being ahead of the game, I get kicked in the you-know-what. $700 to the transmission shop last week. I paid that particular bill kicking and screaming, believe me. I was *not* fun to live with. This week it’s the blasted regurgitator. It was coming. We had trouble with it last winter. There are still several electrothermofragmaglobulators in there from that episode. 52.5 degrees inside one of the vegetable crispers. Woo hoo!

I do not want to pay for a new regurgitator right now. I want to get one when I finally get to re-do the ugliest kitchen on earth. I have one little smidgen of counter space. I want to move the blasted regurgitator out of its little niche and extend my little smidgen of counter space around the corner and put a new regurgitator across the room where the ugly table is. Yes, I liked the table when we moved in. But I don’t any more. That was 24 years ago, fer kee-reist! But I don’t think we are *quite* ready to rip out and re-do the whole blasted kitchen. Just yet. Because we still have one more year of expensive private liberal arts college tuition to pay. I just got the bill for the first quarter of the 2008-09 school year yesterday. Do not get me wrong. It is well worth it to do whatever you possibly can to help your children get the best possible education your family can manage. Reach high! You go, girls!

Anyway, for now, I guess we’ll get whatever regurgimatator fits into the slot that the current regurgimatator is in. I have lived with all kinds of regurgimatators in my life including one with little wooden freezer doors that hooked shut and one that my beloved father-in-law installed in the garage at Houghton Lake, just for me. At least that’s what he told me. But yes, we *will* be buying a new one. Soon. Because 52.5 degrees is not cold enough. And yes, the setting is on HIGH! I just hope we can get something besides a GE this time. Even the Big George delivery guys were skeptical when we bought the current one. Yep. It was the only one that fit.

I am just superstitious enough to believe that stupid old adage about trouble coming in threes. I hope whatever the third thing turns out to be is related to appliances or whatever. People please be careful. Touching wood now. Big time.

Oh, and if you have gotten here by googling “trailer trash”, you guys, it’s just a stereotypical phrase. I sometimes feel like I am living in a camping trailer but I am not. But I have been in “trailers” that were bigger than my house. That title? It’s the name of my band. So retract your fangs, fer kee-reist.

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