Talkin' Trash

It happened this morning, like so many other Tuesday mornings.

Gary and I both whined and complained our way out of bed and groggily set about getting ready for work. We took turns brushing our teeth, riffled through the pile of clean laundry on the bathroom floor (which, of late, is coming dangerously close to joining forces with the dirty pile as a part of its maniacal plan to overtake the entire house), Gary tried to leave, I locked my arms around his torso and let him drag me around a little before I let him leave, and then as soon as the truck pulled away I cranked up the old iPod and gangster rapped my way through the rest of the morning. I have to wait until he leaves to do this because he hates everything that I love. JUST KIDDING! He just hates rap music, and I think he hears enough of my sad attempts at it to deserve not to have to hear the real thing. Much.*

Suddenly, right in the middle of the first verse of All I Do Is Win, I was gripped by a sudden panic. It went a little something like this:

Hold up...what’s today? PIPE DOWN, LUDA, I’M THINKING! What day is this?! I went to work yesterday....CUSS! IT’S TUESDAY!

Why is the fact that it’s Tuesday so upsetting? You might be thinking it’s because the last time I washed my hair was on Sunday, making it extra difficult for me to put my hair into a ponytail without that one spot on my head looking like a patch of gnarly seaweed, but no – this is even more pressing. Tuesday is our trash day.

We have tried everything. Gary used to set an alarm for every Monday night at 6, but we would invariably be away from home when it went off, so he’d just turn it off and we’d forget about it. I used to write it on the dry erase board on our fridge, but we rarely have time to eat breakfast during the week, so all it was good for was evoking a few expletives on Tuesday nights when I’d go to make dinner. I considered writing it on the bathroom mirror instead, but I’m sure we’d get used to seeing it there and forget what it meant. It seems that we are doomed to have an overflowing trash bin. It’s actually pretty disturbing to consider the amount of garbage two people and one dog can generate in a week’s time. Maybe registering for five years’ worth of Styrofoam dinnerware was a mistake after all.

I managed to get it out to the curb before 7, so we’ll see what happens. The one thing you can all be sure of is that Gary is going to bake me a nice big German chocolate cake tonight as a reward for performing what was clearly a boy job.

What’s that Gary? This is the first you’ve heard of this? Well, the cake mix and frosting can be found in the cabinet above the dishwasher. I suggest you get to bakin’.



*I can't be held responsible for those nights he comes home earlier than I expected to find me in the kitchen wearing a wifebeater and a bandana tied around my head, shouting Eminem into the handle of a bread knife. I'm just that hard.