The Court is APOPLECTIC. Let Reginald be absolutely clear: a refrigerator does not become a family heirloom simply because your mother touched it. This is not the Shroud of Turin, it is a WHITE FRIGIDAIRE that has spent fourteen years humming sadly in a kitchen it thought was its forever home. The seller ripped this loyal appliance from its water line — its LITERAL LIFELINE — leaving behind nothing but a dust outline like some kind of refrigerator chalk drawing at a crime scene. I once had a ceiling fan that belonged to my grandmother and when I sold that condo I did not hire movers at midnight to commit fan extraction because I am a CIVILIZED MEMBER OF SOCIETY. The buyer showed admirable restraint in only demanding three thousand dollars when they could have demanded the seller's dignity, which apparently retails for eight hundred dollars and runs on freon. As established in Maytag v. Unresolved Maternal Attachment, 2019, you cannot hold a real estate transaction hostage because your feelings about Mom fit inside a crisper drawer. The refrigerator's current location remains unknown, which haunts The Court more than it should, and I am now declaring a fifteen-minute recess because Reginald needs to call his own mother.