She lives at my house.
For those that don't remember (or never knew), Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout refused to take the garbage out. It piled so high, it touched the sky.
A little back story here. Disgruntled Husband and I have a difference of opinion. I say that the garbage can is the portal to a clean house, and if the garbage isn't taken out, the house can't be cleaned effectively. He maintains that I'm full of crap.
We agree to disagree.
However, when I start nagging him about what he's done (or not done, ahem), drags out the golden task, the trump card to all house cleaning and other responsibilities (in his mind, that is):
"I took the trash out this morning!"
We call this the "Royal Proclamation" because he says it in such a way that he thinks one should ask no more of him. He's Sir Gawain the Green Knight and has just slayed the trash dragon, how dare I ask more of him?
And, I should mention, that though Sir Trashiness proclaims this, it rarely means I don't ask him to pick up.
The trash is put in the unattached garage, waiting for Thursday morning, when it's trash day.
The other day, I needed to get into the garage to get something. It was -2 out (yay Wisconsin) and I fumbled with my keys only to be met with (the equivalent of) this:
|Imagine this in a Wisconsin garage, with only enough space for a door to open.|
And yesterday, Thursday, was our garbage day. I did see some bags out by the alley. But I knew more were in the garage.
Meanwhile, inside, a small coup was happening. Generally, I
And so it piled up to the ceilings:
Coffee grounds, potato peelings,
Brown bananas, rotten peas,
Chunks of sour cottage cheese.
It filled the can, it covered the floor,
It cracked the window and blocked the door
(Excerpt from Shel's poem)
And I know what you're all going to say: Why not just suck it up and take it out yourself?
|Please don't call the authorities. Somewhere, my mother is crying.|
See that bag laying down on the right? That's the bag I took out. I'm not going to A.) Venture out in -18 degrees to throw this is Wisconsin's newest private landfill and B.) One bag in the house is my limit. I'm not going to make it two.
Oh, and for the record, the paper bag is full of newspapers to be recycled. And blissfully unaware DH put a styrofoam box on top. One of these things is not like the others...
To combat this, I have a plan. This Sunday is the Bears-Packers game. A game so big, it's the reason DH bought a big screen television. If this isn't gone by tomorrow, the remote to the television will be hidden in the garage altar to Oscar the Grouch.
Game on, dude. Game on.