Now I know that we have established that I am a little old fashioned. So when I announce that
things are a little Cleaver-ish around here no one is going to be TOO surprised right? I mean I do the cooking and the cleaning and the childrearing. I pack lunches and yes, loser me, I DO own an apron. It's not frilly and pink and stuff (a girl's gotta draw the line somewhere!) but I do own one and I wear it on a fairly regular basis.
Since Daddy-O has such long work hours I do end up doing a lot of the yard work too but he is still the guy with the lawn mower and the leaf blower and the weed eater. We share the whole mulching thing. And of course he is the grill master (most of the time). That's a sacred thing that even I know not to mess with.
But there is one role that I absolutely MUST address. Garbage Day. I don't know why it bothers me so. I mean I change stinky butts and clean up barf when it happens. How much grosser does it get? Maybe that's why it gets to me. I have my fair share of gross already.
I don't mind gathering the trash. That's not a big deal right? It's the taking it to the big can in the garage that annoys me. So you can imagine how I must feel about taking the big can to the curb. I know it's no big deal. I know that dealing with the stuff that goes into the can is more disgusting than dealing with the can itself. It just aggravates me when I have to take it down.
And I'm always freaked out about falling. I know that sounds bizarre but let me explain. Our driveway is pretty steep. You have to "gun it" to get up the driveway. One happy Wednesday I was taking the trash out and there was the smallest of slick spots on the driveway. I hit it and went down while holding onto the garbage can because (and this is exactly what went through my brain) I would be so embarassed if our garbage can went rocketing down the driveway, across the road, down across the neighbors' lawn and into their front door. Of course the lid flew open and came back over the top and smacked me in the face with one corner catching me right below the eye. Ever been smacked right above or below your eye? Then you know that blinding, tear flooding pain that makes you wish you could just pass out.
I walked around with a black eye for two weeks. It was all I could do not to tell people that Beloved gave it to me. Afterall if he had fulfilled his "man role" of taking out the trash I wouldn't have fallen or gotten smacked in the face. Since then it has become my absolute least favorite chore.
I hate cleaning out the fridge. I'm not a tremendous fan of bagging leaves or cleaning the toilet. Laundry makes me twitchy sometimes but I would do it all all day every day if it meant that I never had to take out the garbage again.
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