My kitchen now harbors one very small, very sacred patch of earth that brings me sanity: my garbage can.
The other day, I sent David to the store with a list of things I needed “so that I could get things done.” I did not “get things done” so much as I “sat on the couch and ate ice cream”, but I felt better about my life and he came back with some really interesting stuff.
Tasking Dave with picking up groceries is an intriguing and fragile journey. It requires frequent phone calls asking for clarification on sizes, brands, and purposes.
Sometimes Dave needs to know exactly what my plans are for an item before he can determine which brand is necessary.
I was on a quest not long ago to make my dad some pickled eggs and sent Dave to the store for said eggs. Upon reaching the dairy aisle, he immediately placed a phone call to me for clarification on egg size.
It isn’t until times like those that I actually remember that there are different sizes of eggs. For me, it’s always Grade A – large. I don’t even know what the “Grade A” is for, but I get it in confidence every single time because somehow, somewhere, I learned that it was the standard. I don’t remember being taught this information; I just know. I don’t even notice the other sizes of eggs at the store, so much that I act like asking what size I need is a stupid question.
I have to admit that I’m not very good at fielding the grocery questions. I say I don’t care what kind of whatever he gets but when he brings home something I don’t recognize, I get quite annoyed.
We’re working through it.
But the other day, Dave brought home a boon in the form of a trash bag. Apparently, we’re using technology to enhance our trash bags. These are the things on the forefront of chemist’s and marketers’ minds. And ever since I’ve eradicated cable from my apartment, I haven’t been getting the commercial updates on their discoveries. So when Dave brought me home a box of garbage bags that actually stay hugged around the trash can, I peed my pants. Right there on the floor.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wrestled with my kitchen trash bag sticking my hand in last night’s leftovers to get it back in working order around the top of the can. On days when I’ve worked ten hours and have a meeting to go to later that evening, a wonky trash bag is enough to make me lose my screws.
This little material marvel has saved me frustration after frustration. Every time I go to the trash can, I’m so incredibly relieved by the stress-free experience, that I feel recharged with hope for my future. I’ll go around and throw things away just to chuckle about how easy it is.
Now I know what you’re thinking – and I did too. Am I old and boring because a trash bag inspires me with hope for my future? Or am I sad and pathetic for having something so trivial make such a huge difference? Or am I just stupid for spending extra money 0n a superbag when I could have just dealt with what was a very minute problem?
That answer is no. To all those things. I’ve cut enormous loads of stress off my life with a simple household purchase.
I’m not old; I’m enlightened. ♣Today’s Random Act of Kindness: Pre-filled all the laundry machines in my building with quarters and smiley face notes 🙂