Trash Day, or Nature vs. Self

When it comes to chores between me and the Husband, it is usually the Husband who takes out the trash. Especially this past winter when I spent most of my time hiding under blankets and layers of clothing and he would give up trying to find me after about ten minutes. A few days ago, he forgot to take out the trash and it was completely full. Fortunately the weather had warmed up a bit and I was willing to take out the trash. Unfortunately, it stank to high heaven. It is pretty much impossible to describe what it actually smelled like, but if I had to describe it, it had a blended scent of old coffee grounds, expired meat, and used cleaning products. A ferret could have taken a whiff of it and possibly fall into a comatose state.

***stink squiggles did not occur in real life.

What was worse about this is when I removed it from the trash can, it started developing a little hole in the bottom of the bag because of a beer bottle. This meant that in order to prevent the garbage from plummeting out of the bag and thus exposing the stench that could wipe out mankind, I could not hold it away from me and run. I would have to hold the bag in my arms and carefully walk to the dumpster.

Let's back up a bit and discuss the strange habit I have of wearing nice dresses and converse sneakers while I clean. Because of the anxiety I have due to cleaning, I find it helpful to spend my day pretending I'm a modern, less bitchy version of Betty Draper. I put on some Judy Garland and Sinatra in the background, I poor myself a glass of wine, and then I put on a simple cocktail dress. This allows me to vacuum and dance around the apartment in a calm state because I have allowed myself to think that the converse and my little black number make me look edgy. Plus, the more accepted uniform of pajama pants, a sweater and fuzzy socks doesn't make me feel comfortable or productive. In fact, I wear those things and stuffing my face with homemade mint chocolate chip ice cream to ignore how sad I feel.

So I walk out the door wearing my cute, black [department store clearance] dress while carrying this bag of garbage and death. Of course, I'm holding my breath in hopes that I won't suffocate and leave my Husband a widower. Sure, it's a fictional and highly unlikely hypothesis, but who would want that? Not I, let me assure you.

Now... did I mention that another cold front was coming in? No? Do you know what happens when the weather is changing?

Yep. I was upskirted by a change in the earth's air pressure. And yet I can't hold my skirt down because of one beer bottle making a tiny hole in a garbage bag that is leaking it's foul, ferret-comatose-causing air into the atmosphere.

Oh, and one more thing: there was someone behind me on this day.

And that, children, is how I created a future race that may be similar to the Reavers in "Firefly."