I'm not sure what I like best about Monday Trash Day. Could it be the shit smell from doggy bags and baby diapers? Could it be the smell of rotting chicken from last Monday that had a full week to decompose? Could it be the flies hovering around the cans looking for some way to get into the 'buried treasure'? Could it be the morning dew on the ground that gets your socks, shoes or slippers all wet while you're pulling your bins up the driveway?
Ahhhhhh, it's a wonderful feeling. Especially if you didn't get the trash prepared the night before. Then, you're running around like a crazy fucker.
You know, I've lived in almost 14 places since 1990 and, at each place, my trash day has fallen on a Monday. I know. I know. I think it's a little ridiculous, too. In my humble opinion, I think it totally starts the week off on a bad note. Unless, of course, you like the smell of rotting food and feces.
And let's not even talk about when it's snowing or raining outside. Man, what a bummer.
If I found a magic lamp with a genie inside that would grant me three wishes, here's what I'd wish for:
- The ability to teleport.
- The ability to make anything in a magazine or on the internet appear in front of me just by touching the object on the page.
- That Trash Day was always on Friday.
Instead of being pissed off yanking the garbage bins to the end of the driveway muttering like Yosemite Sam - I'd stop and think "Wait a minute. It's Friday!"
Then I'd start skipping around doing the Irish Leprechaun Click . Hell, I'd be so happy, that I would actually scour the house looking for trash to throw away simply because Trash Day was Friday.
Oh, to dream. To truly dream.