For twenty-seven years we've had the same refrigerator:
It has served us well. But then, Gary started cooking and the fridge that was plenty big enough for two people is now too small. ("WE CAN'T HAVE A SALAD ELLEN THERE ISNT ENOUGH ROOM IN OUR RERIGERATOR FOR A BIG SALAD BOWL." "Make a small sal - " "NO.")
So, we started looking into shiny sexy stainless refrigerators. And we had to establish some rules.
Rule #1 - No icemaker. Icemakers are the devil's playthings. They flood your kitchen, they dispense too little ice, too much ice, they're noisy, they break they break they break. I've never had one, but I hear stories. We don't use ice. I use my ice cube trays for Silk's tip about making measured lemon juice cubes for cooking. If they made lemon juice icemakers I'd consider it.
Rule #2 - No kitchen redesign. This means the fridge stays by the wall, so no pricey french-door models. God bless Sears for their specification of "width with door open 90 degrees."
"Oh," said the salesman, "On this model you can swap the side the door opens - "
"Shut your mouth right now," I said. I can make my life hell, you mean. Gary even became reasonable about the door-switch lie after I made him demonstrate dinner prep with myself playing the role of left-hinged refrigerator door.
Rule #3 - We keep the old refrigerator. Our electric company has a program in which they'll take away your still-running fridge and give you fifty bucks. I suppose fifty bucks is a small price to pay to reclaim the technology that keeps a refrigerator running for twenty-seven years. I found this post that suggests we might have a rare immortal refrigerator with a special design. So, nice try, Ameren Electric, but you will not get my hands on my miracle technology that will put Amana out of business. (That conspiracy theory takes on greater weight when you consider the spiritual genesis of the Amana Corporation.)
The trusty Amana is going out in the garage. My family always had a garage fridge; Gary's didn't. Why? Beer. Evidently the garage fridge is the beer fridge. Growing up I don't ever remember seeing beer in our kitchen fridge, but I always remember Dad with beer in his hand.
Since we don't drink beer, the garage fridge will be MINE ALL MINE, filled with all my pre-portioned breakfast and lunches, calories all counted, weighed and measured, mene mene tekel et cetera.
Until it dies a week after we move it to the garage, of course. You know that's going to happen.