I have a problem. A trash problem. It started about four months ago, when I moved in. For the first time in over a year I found that it was my responsibility to take out the trash. Well, that just sucked.
So I devised a plan. I would take out the trash once a week when I was doing laundry. I would take it out on my second trip to the laundry room when it was time to put the clothes in the dryer. The trash bins are behind the laundry room, which is across the yard, next to the pool.
That worked for a while, until I got behind on my laundry. I only got behind on my laundry because I kept forgetting to go to the bank and get quarters. Damn quarters.
So as time went on and my trash bag sat in the floor next to the stove, I started having visitors. Mostly male visitors. Ok, fine. They were all male visitors. Very nice male visitors too. Because each and every one of them offered to take my trash out for me. Of course I had to decline, because, you know, pride and all.
I always told them that I was going to take it out in the morning, or later that day. I never did. Well, I did occasionally. This went on for months.
Last night Bacchus came over. We were sitting at the table talking and somehow the topic of my garbage came up. Of course he offered to take it out. I declined. Then I told him that everyone tries to take out my garbage for me. He admitted that it did bother him that I always had a bag of garbage sitting there. I laughed.
He proceeded to grab the bags, yes there were two last night, and asked where the dumpster was. I told him and he took it out. When he got back I told him that he had completely fucked up my story. Now it had an ending. Or does it?
Happy humping my fellow Oscars!