White Trash

From off in the kitchen I hear Mark's voice, "Alan, come and empty the garbage!"

It's a familiar call, and before I go in there to do it I have to take a deep breath and count to ten. Not because I don't want to take out the garbage, that's not such a difficult task, it's my job. Mark shops and cooks, I take out the garbage. Mark shops and cooks, I clean up the kitchen. Mark shops and cooks, I take care of the dogs. Mark shops and cooks, I clean the house. See, we each have our duties. So it's not the taking out of the garbage that bothers me, it's because of what I will find when I go to do the job.

No  matter how many times I ask him to tell me to take out the garbage before it's flowing out over the top of the can, it just keeps happening. For some reason it is beyond Mark's ability to understand that it is a problem. It's a pet peeve of mine that sits right up there along with his inability to put lids back on jars and bottles, close cabinet doors, and turn off lights that we do not need turned on. So once again I am in the kitchen taking out the messy garbage that Mark has overstuffed, and I had better do it in a hurry because a delicious chicken parmesan dinner is just about to be put on the table.