05/17/2005 - 8:05 p.m.
TRASH TALK
It's hard to remember during our long, cold winter and the dreary, rainy, cold spring but sometimes the little things can bring joy. No, I am not talking about the girls. They are bigger than me. (Well, to be accurate, Kat is bigger than me. Day is just taller than me.) I am talking about the truly small things in life. I am talking trash cans.
More specifically, I am talking about a particular trash can---a shiny metal one with a removable bucket and, joy of joys, a foot pedal. I am talking about a brand- new trash can. I am talking about the model that I have had my eye on for quite some time but thought was too fancy and expensive for the likes of me. But not anymore. I am the proud owner of a wonderful trash can that my family bought me as a belated Mother's Day gift.
Some people, like my mother-in-law, think it horrible that Mr. Philately and his minions would get me a trash can. If I had not really, really wanted this trash can, they would be right. I would not suggest getting a trash can for a woman who did not really and truly want a trash can. But Mr. Philately has learned to believe when I yearn for a good dictionary, a Swiss-army knife, or some other thoroughly practical present. He knows I will appreciate his getting such objects for me. If I get them, I will get a cheap model and always feel I have missed out. If he gets them, what he will pick out will be as good as I can yearn for if not better. The only part he got wrong was that he was the first one to place trash in my trash can. *I* should have had that honor but I am too joyful to hold a grudge. *I* can be generous and benevolent. (See? That trash can is special. It has amazing powers.)
And I love the foot pedal. I can throw out the yucky stuff without then having to wash off the top of the trash can. More important, if I am bored, I can make the trash can talk to my daughters and see if the silliness gets to them. Right now they are humoring me by pretending to believe that the trash can talk but that will wear off soon enough.
And just wait until my mother visits! Ms. Trash Can will be able to hold a conversation with Mr. Foot! Oh, the excitement of it all! When we were children, she used to use her foot like a puppet and her foot would talk to us. Mr. Foot was particularly fond of talking to my teenage brother, I suspect for the same reason that my trash can talks to my daughters. But Mr. Foot needs a worthy companion. I think Ms. Trash Can would be good for him.
In the meantime, I'll just sit back and admire my trash can. I'm posting a picture so you can admire it too.
Oh, and don't think I can't hear you snickering over there. That's enough. I'll brook no trash talk about THIS trash can.
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Copyright 2006 by Ellen |
