I came straight out of sleep this morning (Sunday), sat up in bed and told SkooterPie: "I have to order a cake for Jesse's birthday. I totally forgot about that." His answer was even more alarming: "The refrigerator isn't working." I told him that I had read somewhere that a person is statistically more likely to have a heart attack first thing in the morning. "Well," he said. "I didn't want to wake you up last night and tell you."

It was 8 a.m., and I had several people scheduled to arrive at my house at 2 p.m. for April's cake tasting. So, I made pancakes and hoped that SkooterPie's assessment of the fridge was wrong. Alas, it wasn't. Without the hum of the fridge, the kitchen was so quiet that I could hear the clock hanging over the sink ticking as I cooked. The fridge came with the house, which we bought 8 years ago. The user manual for the fridge is dated 1986, so it's at least 20 years old.

By 10 we were rushing to get to Sears to buy a new fridge. By 11, SkooterPie and our friend, Ron, were maneuvering our newest appliance into the house. And to Ron I can only say: It was so nice knowing you. I know you'll never answer another phone call from me again. And, how's your back? Wait, don't answer that. I'm not sure I want to know. I hope you'll let us buy you and the lovely Bethany dinner some night soon.

We barely managed to get the house back into shape in time for April's cake tasting, which put me in a weird, almost manic state. Stephanie, the lady making April's cake, must think I'm a total freak. I don't know how appliances seem to know exactly the worst possible time to break down. The stove will be the next to go. SkooterPie has been having dreams about it breaking down.