Murder in room-temperature blood
I killed our fridge. I stabbed it to death.
It Frosts Over Regularly
I was happily chiseling large chunks of winter wonderland out of our freezer with a hammer and a big knife the other day, when an incautious blow pierced the freezer wall, and the hissing started.
I panicked; I tried to plug the tiny hole with ice shavings to no avail. Then I tried superglue, which also failed. Shrieking, I ran in circles around the kitchen, patting my head in alarm and bouncing from foot to foot.
The hissing eventually stopped, replaced by a menacing silence.
Later, the internet confirmed that what escaped was the refrigerant gas that had, up until now, made our refrigerator cold.
To Add to My Disgrace
While chiseling, I had been playing out the scene which would occur when I showed Scott the clean, empty, un-ice-encrusted freezer and crowed at length regarding the ingenuity of my defrosting method over his (a blowdryer and patience.)
I know if this period in my life is replayed before my eyes when I die, it will be to the soundtrack of 2001: A Space Odyssey — the refrigerator-shaped monolith, the terrible burden of tools, the skull-smashing...and me throwing the knife up into the air and it becoming a space station.