Furnishing up the house

Last week, we welcomed a new fridge to the house and sold the small one to a secondhand shop.

It had been our long-term wish to get a fridge of bigger capacity and higher efficiency. However, the moment of selling away the old one was full of struggles. This small kitchen helper was made in 2007 and had been with K since he started living alone. It had assisted me in carrying out housewiferies for more than 2 years. Although it was small, it fulfilled its duties.

We called a secondhand shop for an estimate and reached a deal. When the shop assistant was checking on the fridge and finally produced a number that showed its value, I was emotionally disturbed. It had nothing to do with the job of the lad, but more to do with the act of evaluation itself. My life in Japan had been connected to this little companion in many aspects, and it had been, in a very anti-feminist way, a marker of a new identity that I assumed in this country. And the evaluation itself felt like a judgment on my attachment to the fridge and an final examination of my performance as a wife.

When we were informed that it would be worth 2000 JPY, I felt slightly hurt and perhaps insulted. What did the number 2000 mean? If I had had been a better wife, would it be more valuable than this? Or, it did not matter at all. I am sure I was not greedy in terms of money. It was the pride as a 'housewife' that was hurt, I guess.

I remember the gas stove that we had to remove before we moved into this new place. At that time, the stove was too dated to be of any monetary value, and it was simply taken away by another recycle shop. The shop assistant said that he couldn't offer a price because it would be illegal to trade on an old machine like that, but he offered to take it away because it was still in a good condition. There was a moment of suspicion in me, but it was soon dismissed by a false sense of pride aggrandized by his flattery on my wifery work. It might not be the truth behind his offer and the deal at all, but his compliment (which was only clear to a housewife, I have to admit) had made it less unpleasant to let it go.