Taking out the garbage - the process of putting it into the larger cans outside - has never been a specifically-assigned task in this household. Which would spell dooooooom for some households, but for ours, non-assigned tasks seem to get done pretty smoothly. The dishes are another such task, and we fall in and out of routines with our dishwashing, but generally Fran and I are doing half the work. That is, on any given day, we'll each do about half the work, not that one of us takes on the kitchen entirely each day. It is interesting how these things work themselves out as years of marriage start to extend behind you.
But apparently this little understanding is falling apart when it comes to the garbage.
I noticed about a month ago that it seemed like I was the ONLY one taking care of the garbage. Like if it was full, Fran would leave garbage on the counter or stick it in a bag next to the garbage...and then not take care of things when he was done with whatever-it-was.
This pissed me off. But I held that pissed-off in complete and utter silence, largely because the laundry (one of the things that are definitely "mine") was overflowing all over the bedroom, and I couldn't be starting the arguement right then. Fran had too much ammo. I decided to postpone the battle until I could stock up better.
A mere week later, we had it out, him standing in the kitchen and me in the bedroom, shouting across the living space. Not the best way to have a rational discussion, don't you think? "Niki, the trash FRUSTRATES me, I don't LIKE to do it!" "oh, and I ENJOY it?!" "well, it doesn't drive you NUTS, but it drives ME nuts!" "MAN, I don't like to do it either! Just because I don't get all huffy doesn't mean I LIKE it!" (insert man sulking here) (insert Niki at a loss for words here - stupidity can have that effect on me...)
And so in the intervening time, I had been stubbornly refusing to take out the trash. So, apparently, had Fran. Because after the trash can filled up, that ever-so-lovely bag appeared next to it. And another. And it drove me NUTS. I couldn't open the dishwasher without rearranging them. I couldn't use the step-can and had to wrestle with opening up the bag to throw stuff away. But I put up with it. Until this morning, when I woke up and there was liquid leaking from under one of the bags.
This was just too much.
I took out the trash.
The battle, I fear, has been lost. I'm left wondering if Fran will ever take out the trash again.
So much for the eveil one, eh? Couldn't think of a better way to do this? Oh, yes, I thought of a million. Including leaving trash on his side of the bed...dumping the bag over his head...putting bags behind his car so he had to move them to go to work...
But I fear that this would cause a revival of other, more important battles. I'm not interested in starting a war I'll lose. Because when it comes down to it, Fran, as anal as he can be, is a man...and he can live in squallor far longer than I can. Plus he's still taking the filled trash cans on the long journey up to the main street for pickup every week, and I really don't want to get nailed with that one too.
I can't believe I've been out-stubborned. Me!! Out-stubborned!!
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