In my ongoing series of Minor Accomplishments that Foster a Pleasing Illusion of Competence, today I bought my first ever fridge. I did this via the telephone, with the aid of the internet (competent use of which suggests competence in general) and my mastercard (competently acquired by me without lying to the bank, a sure sign of my ability to cope with the vicissitudes of life at large).
I haven't met this fridge yet, as she lives in the 'Bourn, but her photograph appears in the Preston Good Guys January Catalogue, and, in a fridgy sort of way, she seems a good sort. A pleasing 220 litres deep, with shelves, a crisper, a freezer, and - the catalogue didn't mention this, but one hopes - food cooling potential. In my supreme competence, I have organised for her to be delivered the day that I fly south. If the Preston Good Guys and the Removalist Company that Shall Not Be Named are as competent as I seem to be, she will arrive an hour and a half after my collection of books, musical instruments, and (thanks for nothing, comrades) lion hats. This should give me and my astonishing life skills time to clear a path through the boxes. Then I will connect the fridge to the powerpoint (here my competence will be stretched to its maximum potential, but I trust it will prevail), allow the fridge to cool (assuming that I have indeed signed up for a cooling fridge), and stock it with Melbourne's finest selection of tofus and perishable sweetmeats.
All of this reassures me immensely. My life may be packed up in boxes and strewn across the globe, but dammit, if I can organise myself a fridge, what can I not organise? Pandemonium, consider yourself warned.