Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Taking the trash out is the husband's job.

Growing up there are certain jobs that fell to my Dad. My Mother never did them. Taking the trash out,  putting gas in the car and mowing the lawn, are the few I think of as really being the husbands job.

I put gas in my own car, If I waited for my husband to do it, I'd be waiting on the side of the road. He laughed the first time I suggesting he gas up the car while he was home so I would not have to do it the next day. (yep, I deserved that laugh, and the following line, he drive it you fill it)

If the lawn gets really really unruly, I will mow the front, that faces the road so the house doesn't look abandoned, but mowing aggravates my allergies something fierce. So I try to beg off and not have to do any mowing at all.

The garbage. I will remove it from the house and toss it in the mini dumpster, but really, I don't like to do it, trash bags and cling wrap have the uncanny ability to outwit me and make me completely crazy. My husband has not been home on trash day for 3 weeks, and he always looks in the full trash can after a stretch like that and says why did you take this out? To which my answer accompanied with a guilty face is, "I remembered at 5 til 6 when I heard the truck outside and I know I cant get down the drive that fast."

This week I thought about taking out the drive on Sunday night, but that was as I fell asleep on the couch. So at 6am I awoke, not having heard the truck and thought I'd just roll it around front and down the hill(rather than down the long slick driveway)

Big Error in Judgment.  I should have gone down the drive I had time.  At the top of the hill that is the front corner of the yard I realized the crunchy icy grass underfoot was also slick. I said out loud to no one in particular "Oh great dead man's hill" Then I took one small careful stupid step.BIGGER ERROR IN JUDGMENT.  I heard an icky sounding pop as my left leg careened out from under me, and the mini dumpster whacked me in the back of the head shoving me down the hill. (I know I said it, and invited trouble, how stupid was I?)  My first thought was OOOOWWWWWW!! followed by "if I missed the truck and broke myself for no reason I am going to be sooo angry." Followed by, the realization that I could not just sit on the ground and wait for the garbage men to come scrape me up, I had to pick up the trash and go in to get the kids ready for school.  I catiously got up gimped around and pulled the trash to the end of the drive. and hobbled pathetically up the drive. I was almost to eh door when the truck pulled up for the trash.

I do believe I sprained or pulled something, and I am treating it as such, with the exception of staying off it entirely.  It is better today but not great.

It will heal I will live, but I will not take the trash out anymore.

Read and post comments | Send to a friend


  1. Oh no! That is terrible! I'm glad that you didn't hurt yourself any worse, but I'll be even more glad when you stop taking out the trash :(

  2. I hate taking the trash out too.It's a man's job. Totally.

  3. I called the hubby and told him never again no matter how full it was. he laughed at me and called me my mother (she broke both ankles a few years ago stepping wrong off the back steps.)

  4. I agree whole heartedly.But I will have to empty the kitchen trash today it is overflowing ..:P bleh