I have made it known that there is hardly anything that my Rockstar does that is worth bitching about. Though he occassionally tunes me out to watch NASCAR or football, this ape-like behavior is to be expected of the lesser sex, and so I do not begrudge him for it. There is but one thing that causes me to become absolutely irate with him- the trash can.
It is safe to say that the majority of the world’s populace owns a trash can. Where else could people place the debris that accumulates from everyday life? While I prefer the household garbage holder to be hidden out of plain view, I would not be opposed to an appropriate-sized trash can to be prevelant in our kitchen. Appropriate-sized, you ask? I say appropriate-sized because my Rockstar deems it necessary to have an 18-gallon plastic trash bin in the middle of our scullery. No, I do not condone the use of an industrial-sized outdoor garbage can indoors unless an entire platoon is present.
When I moved in, my first attempt at ridding our household of said garbage can was immediately shot down. My Rockstar replied to my pleas of domesticity with, “I’m not going to drag a tiny bag of trash down to the dumpster every day.” I assured him that if we were to purchase a normal-sized can, I myself would be glad to carry out the garbage. More recently, I announced that it would be much easier on his back if we had a smaller trash can, for then he would not be forced to heave a 40 lb. bag of rubbish into the dumpster provided to us outside. He proclaimed that the 20 gallon can was staying.
While cleaning the kitchen today, I lifted the lid of the garbage can to throw away an item, and was met with a blast of viscious, naseau-inducing odors. One of the downfall of having a continent-sized garbage can is that in-frequent changing of the bag results in putrid smells of the previous week’s leftovers, kleenexs, paper, and other assorted waste ripening. Irritated, I struggled to lift the gargantuan bag from the can, which I’m sure resembled a school-yard nerd wrestling with a sumo wrestler. As I dragged the over-weighted bag down to the dumpster, I looked around for a benevolent passer-by, hoping they would be so kind to hold the dumpster lid open for me while I attempted to lift the bag in. No such luck. Instead, I spent 20 minutes trying to grow 4 inches so that I would be tall enough to lift the dumpster lid high enough to wedge the trash bag underneath it, meanwhile, trying to muster the gumption to lift 7 days worth of garbage over my head.
I’m going to buy a new garbage can tomorrow, and my Rockstar can just suck it.