Here is something non-Stepfordy about me.
Don’t tell anyone.
It is a little embarrassing.
I HATE taking out the garbage!
Are you that way to? (Please tell me you are. Please.)
Do you push it down.
Again.
And Again.
And Again.
Every time I push down on the garbage I’m reminded of Shel Silverstein’s poem Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout Would Not Take the Garbage Out.
If you’ve never read it, here it is for your pleasure:
Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout
Would not take the garbage out!
She’d scour the pots and scrape the pans,
Candy the yams and spice the hams,
And though her daddy would scream and shout,
She simply would not take the garbage out.
And so it piled up to the ceilings:
Coffee grounds, potato peelings,
Brown bananas, rotten peas,
Chunks of sour cottage cheese.
It filled the can, it covered the floor,
It cracked the window and blocked the door
With bacon rinds and chicken bones,
Drippy ends of ice cream cones,
Prune pits, peach pits, orange peel,
Gloppy glumps of cold oatmeal,
Pizza crusts and withered greens,
Soggy beans and tangerines,
Crusts of black burned buttered toast,
Gristly bits of beefy roasts. . .
The garbage rolled on down the hall,
It raised the roof, it broke the wall. . .
Greasy napkins, cookie crumbs,
Globs of gooey bubble gum,
Cellophane from green baloney,
Rubbery blubbery macaroni,
Peanut butter, caked and dry,
Curdled milk and crusts of pie,
Moldy melons, dried-up mustard,
Eggshells mixed with lemon custard,
Cold french fried and rancid meat,
Yellow lumps of Cream of Wheat.
At last the garbage reached so high
That it finally touched the sky.
And all the neighbors moved away,
And none of her friends would come to play.
And finally Sarah Cynthia Stout said,
“OK, I’ll take the garbage out!”
But then, of course, it was too late. . .
The garbage reached across the state,
From New York to the Golden Gate.
And there, in the garbage she did hate,
Poor Sarah met an awful fate,
That I cannot now relate
Because the hour is much too late.
But children, remember Sarah Stout
And always take the garbage out!
Shel Silverstein, 1974
I worry that one day the garbage will actually get so full, tip over, and drown me.
It is thoughts like these that help me to take the garbage out.
I will not be like Sarah.
I won’t.
(okay, maybe just a little)
{ 7 comments… read them below or add one }
Yes, sometimes I wonder if I am going to break the garbage can because I push so much into it! Maybe you could just tell Mandy that it is her job to take out the garbage! I’m sure she’d go for that! The best is when you have crammed so much garbage in there that you end up tearing the bag when you try to get it out of the garbage bin. That’s always fun! I hope you are feeling better!
It is embarrassing – Thanks a lot. Several people know that your garbage is my garbage.
I’m not a Simpsons watcher, but I had a roommate that was and there is an episode on this. I finally saw it. It was funny. The person who made something fall off of the garbage can pile was the one who had to take it out so they were using staplers, etc to keep it on.
I don’t know what’s so hard about taking the garbage out, but I hate it too….but not as much as I hate sweeping/mopping.
I try to use the bag to the fullest extent possible, but I’d much rather take the garbage out than fold laundry or do the dishes!
I will tell you, I am nothing like that. The truth is, I hardly have any garbage at all. I always feel ridiculous putting my can out on Thursday mornings because there is usually only one tiny little bag inside. But in fear of having things stink up, I put it out.
That’s what husbands are for – your very own garbage man! I put the garbage can in the middle of the kitchen and, magically, it get’s emptied! (okay, not always. . .)
Isn’t Shel Silverstein the greatest?!?! I too tend to let the garbage pile up…I guess I’m hoping the elves will empty it during the night…