Fun times with the Gridge

One of the items at the top of my “things I really want but Frank won’t let me have” list is a gridge—a fridge inside the garage. It’s right there after bi-weekly cleaning lady.

What’s so great about a gridge? It’s simple. Gridge = fun.

How did I get that equation? Well, let me ask you, if you had a gridge (and maybe you do…lucky) what would you put in it?

Excess beer and ice cream, right?

What’s more fun than alcohol and dessert? Nothing. Not one thing.

So if you had a house that had so much alcohol and dessert that you would actually need another place to store it all, well, that would be a pretty cool house, huh? It’s a fact: The coolest houses have gridges. The Loyds have a gridge. Grandmas have gridges. And when you’re at grandma’s, you can have all the ice cream you want. And at some grandmas' (mine and Frank’s), you can have all the alcohol you want, too.

And if there’s any room in the freezer after you’ve stuffed it with ice cream sandwiches and Flavor Ices then you can fill it with meat. While meat’s not quite as fun as Blue Bell and Budweiser, it does mean that at your house, you’re always ready to grill. And that’s super fun too.

Now that you’re convinced that gridges are fun, you’re probably wondering why Frank (who is always up for fun) refuses to let us have one.

I’m over here wondering the same thing. I guess his main argument is that gridges are expensive. But that’s the cool thing about gridges; you CAN’T get a side-by-side or stainless steel gridge. It has to be old-school horizontal. In fact, the older and more dated it is, the better.

Then there’s the space issue. I would certainly be willing to get rid of a few things in the garage to make room for the gridge—Frank’s skateboard, those swim noodles and do we really need a lawn mower?

But I think his main objection comes from his childhood. He grew up with a gridge. He doesn’t understand its ambience, its charm, its mystique. To me, a gridge represents vacation, chillin’ out, the weekend.

In fact, it’s just about weekend time now. Everybody go to your gridges! I’ll be over here, getting beer and ice cream out of my kitchen like a sucker. Oh, well. Maybe I can at least hang out in my garage and pretend like I got it out of my gridge. When the neighbors see me, sitting on a lawn chair in my garage, eatin’ ice cream and drinking beer, they’re sure to think, “That girl looks super fun.” But I won't share any Flavor Ices with them.