no. (roses_rejoice) wrote,

Oh, the trashcanity.

This morning, when I finally managed to stagger out of bed, I noticed that the large bag of upstairs trash that should have gone out last Tuesday, and that did not go out because I was not here to (a) take it out myself or (b) issue verbal reminders to the party of the second part to Remember to Take It Out, was still in the bathroom, despite my suggesting several times Friday night and Saturday that it be taken out posthaste. So, I suggested nicely a couple more times that it be taken out.

When it still had not moved by the third suggestion, I resorted to Plan B, which involved throwing the entire bag and plastic bin down the stairs and yelling for five minutes. It got taken out after that.

Following this episode, whatsisname reappeared to announce (by way of explaining the tardy trash removal, no doubt) that he was going to Home Depot to buy new trash cans because in my absence this past week, our two main outdoor trash cans blew away and he Could Not Find Them Anywhere!!

"Did you look?" I inquired, probably sounding somewhat impatient since our trash cans blow away about once a week, only to turn up later in the backyard ditch or the neighbor's gutter, and be hauled home wagging their wheels behind them like Little Bo-Peep's trashier sheep.

He insisted, becoming rather frantic, that he had looked EVERYWHERE and could not find them.

About an hour later I finally went outside and while standing on the porch, noticed two suspiciously familiar green and beige trash cans sitting about 25 feet away in full view in the neighbor lady's side yard, where she had undoubtedly stuck them to get them the hell out of her own driveway into which they had likely rolled.

So I sent whatsisname over to identify and recover the errant cans. Meanwhile, he had indeed gone to Home Depot and bought two new cans. So we now have a grand total of about seven cans outside and could start a UNICEF for the local raccoons.

I do not understand how a compass expert who spends his days locating mines in remote desert locations can somehow miss a full-size trashcan sitting across the street in full view of our porch. Perhaps embedding some kind of electronic computer-trackable locator on the can would make all the difference. As further pondering is unlikely to improve my understanding, I think I will go stick things with my new felting needles instead.
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