Sunday, January 25, 2009

A Very Trashy Post

First, I know you've been waiting and waiting and asking your friends, "When do you think she'll post it? For the love of pete, WHEN?"

Trashy Pirate speaks for herself. But. I must point out a couple of things so that those of you (Joe) still defending this plastic woman's virtue can no longer pretend that you don't know she's the trashiest thing chaining herself to flagpoles these days: 1) lace gloves, and 2) fishnet stockings. Surely everyone agrees with me now -- if not on the trashy point, then on the fact that this is the strangest apartment marketing scheme you've ever heard of. Times are tight and all that, but wouldn't a sign that said "One month free rent" be a better sales hook than a mannequin chained to the flagpole at the front of the complex?

Let's move on. Joe came home Friday afternoon -- yay!! There were hugs and kisses and much wallowing all over him! (And the kids were glad he was home, too.)

Joe asked me to do only one thing for him while he was gone -- take the trash out to the street. The trash truck comes on Mondays and Thursdays. So I had two Mondays and two Thursdays -- four opportunities -- when I could have driven the trash out to the street and avoided this embarrassment when Joe and I drove up to the house after I picked him up from the airport:

That's all of our trash for two weeks. In my defense -- it's difficult to get myself ready for work and a kid ready for school and out the door by 7:00 and also find time to drive the truck out to the gate, unlock it, and haul the trash across the street bag by bag in the dark. It's not difficult so much as it is impossible. Friday morning, the day Joe was coming home, Grandma Elsie offered to drive the trash to the dump so that Joe wouldn't have to know I had so completely failed him. I told her she absolutely couldn't do that because then not only would I have not done the one thing Joe had asked me to do, I would have allowed his elderly mother to drive the trash to the dump to cover up for me. How low is that? But she insisted she didn't mind and that she was sure when she got there, some man would hop up into the back of the truck and throw the bags in the dumpster so she wouldn't have to. In the end, she couldn't get the truck started, so I had to face the music (in case you're wondering, it sounded like Oscar the Grouch singing "I looooove trash!").

Let's move on. After dinner Friday night, Joe and Mace bonded over laundry. Joe doesn't actually do the laundry (usually -- there are some exceptions). He pretty much thinks he's doing you a favor if he brings all the laundry to the washing machine and makes three or four large piles right where you need to walk to and from the back door. This is not something that really bothers me because I just kick it all to one side and continue to ignore it until I'm ready to actually wash it. On Friday night, though, it was harder to kick out of the way:

(And no, I never wipe my kids' mouths after a meal. I just let the food wear off or stay on there until bath time.) Joe is laying there thinking, "I can't believe she couldn't take the trash out even once while I was gone!"

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