I’ve been distracted trying to write this column, because a couple of guys in my kitchen are shouting at each other in a language I can’t understand. They’re trying to fix my fancy refrigerator, and they’ve been at it for quite some time now.

My house is tiny, so even though I’m wedged into my “office,” (which consists of a minuscule corner of my dining room), I can hear every word as if I were in the kitchen with them.

Normally, I never buy fancy appliances. In fact, I buy the simplest ones I can find. My grandfather, who owned an auto garage and who probably could have fixed the space shuttle if they’d sent him up there, always told me that. And so did my father, who was so handy he built our TV from a kit. For fun. Ponder that one for a moment.

“Never buy anything with a lot of bells

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