Bin day

Monday and bin day again! A sick child in the house threw me this morning so when I heard the waste lorry coming down the street I was obliged to abandon Calpol delivery, leap downstairs, find a pair of shoes (size 12 flip flops were the immediate ones to hand), dash outside in dressing gown at sub zero temperatures, wildly waving and shouting “Wait, wait!”. No wonder they moved on without my bin. Sob sob, because I’m incapable of waiting another two weeks for bin collection, now I’ll have to take a trip to the refuse centre. Maybe tomorrow. And maybe there’s something wrong with me?

I am reminded of the time a friend asked her husband if he’d taken out the bins and he answered in the affirmative. But later that day, she discovered the bin hadn’t been emptied. When she confronted him about this, his response was that a kindly homeless person must have seen the bin on the pavement and brought it in for them, not realising it was purposefully placed there for collection! Full marks for inventiveness. Zero marks for taking out the bins but no surprise there, eh? Domestic duties, it seems, are always pink!

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