I’m smitten. I admit it, I am completely smitten. It’s like a majorly, big, junior high school crush. And the object of my unrequited obsession is a refrigerator. You know, like you do.

It all started Saturday morning when we were running around crossing things off the to-do list and we popped into Home Depot to pick up air filters for the HVAC (I worked in construction, so they are HVACs, it’s a holdover of the cool lingo I used to use).

Now, “popping into” Home Depot doesn’t really work for me. It’s not a store I seek out, but once I’m in there I get totally into the sheer variety and depth of things you can buy there. I wander around looking at all the stuff that, between visits, I forget you have to buy somewhere. Stuff like ductwork and shower/tub units. I’m oddly fascinated that anyone can go in there and buy that stuff and put it in their house. You don’t have to go to a specialty store or there isn’t some secret contractor place that you need to flip a gang sign to get in and purchase your 2 x 4s.

Anyway, we’d just finished a wildly invigorating debate about whether changing out the register covers on the hardwood floors would be worth it. Suffering from decision fatigue at the end of our house building project, I’m fairly certain that when presented with the options one of us pointed wildly at whichever option appeared palatable and walked away. There are a lot of freaking decisions to make when you build a house, in case you didn’t know.

While Eric mused over the various attributes of the air filters, I wandered over the Appliances. Then, BAM! my life shifted.

I caught sight of it at the end of the aisle, arranged in the most visible location for maximum attention. I could see why. It was a beauty. I caught my breath and took a half step back.

“Eric?” I called weakly but he couldn’t hear me.

Then I moved toward it, my fingers stretched out to touch it.

And that’s how Eric found me. Caressing the refrigerator of my dreams in Aisle 14 of the Home Depot. I didn’t mean for it to happen.

“Look it,” I demanded, running my hands over the doors like one of “The Price Is Right” dolls. “Two drawers between the main compartment and the bottom freezer. Can you believe it? One drawer for meat, with it’s own temperature control. One drawer for produce, with some kind of adjustor thing on it, I don’t know what for. But these drawers are entirely separate from the main cabin. Isn’t that amazing design?”

My eyes shone as I demonstrated for Eric how these magical drawers pulled all the way out and, oh, by the way, they are soft close. The ice machine was in the door instead of taking up valuable real estate in the bottom freezer. The design of this fridge is spectacular.

Instantly I had visions of eating more vegetables because this freaking soft close drawer was so fantastic that it would inspire me. Quick flashes of the scenes of me at Farmer’s Market, adorable wicker basket casually hooked over my arm and talking with the farmer about his most recent harvest, filled my head. I’d gather pasture-raised beef that was only hand fed ancient grains to fill up the meat drawer. The nutrition of the whole family would immediately level up if this fridge and I could cohabitate. I felt it in my bones. This would be the thing that got me to learn to cook. Our entire lives would become soft focus dream sequences.

“Can we get it?”

“It’s $3,800. Our fridge is two years old and perfectly fine.”

Eric served up the ice bath my fridge passion needed. I slumped against the door.

“But I think I need this for my life to be complete.”

Eric laid a comforting hand on my shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. “I’ll leave you two alone to say good-bye,” he said and strode off toward checkout.

I can’t say it’s been an easy week. Just yesterday I admitted to Eric that the lyrics to the song “It’s Sad to Belong to Someone Else When the Right One Comes Along” or whatever that 70’s song by England Dan and John Ford Coley is called, have never meant so much to me as this week, every time I open up the fridge.