Friday, September 14, 2007

The Ruckus

Right now there are very strange noises coming from the garage.

I am sitting in the kitchen but Chris is out in the garage. I thought he was getting the bikes ready for the race. But then I heard a noise that I can only describe as a “ruckus” followed by Chris yelling very loud.


I believe what happened was he was power washing the garbage can and went a little too far. You see, something happened in our garbage can. After about 3 years of standing in our garage I think it just gave up and died. Because it smells like death. Possibly due to some toxic mixing of household garbage, foul smells and too many days over 95 degrees in our garage.

I told Chris just to toss the can. It’s not worth it. We can buy another one. But you know men – they have to do it the hard way just to prove they can.

So he got out the power washer. Yes, we own a power washer. It’s ridiculous. Chris has a tool for everything. Anyways, he’s power washing the can and I suspect he either washed it with so much power that it blew it across the garage or the water hit the side of the can and sprayed all over himself.

Knowing that either scenario could be very funny, I had to take a look.

I opened the garage door to find the garage empty – except for Chris’ ghetto table. This is a table he puts up in the garage when he works on bikes transforming our garage into a makeshift version of Sanford & Son. I like this table as much as I like living on the lot of Sanford & Son. Every time Chris puts up the table I shout out “Elizabeth, Elizabeth, I’m coming for ya” while clutching my heart which Chris does not find funny. But I find it hilarious.

Ghetto table aside, the garage is empty. But outside on the driveway I see Chris with the hose spraying the driveway.

He was literally watering the driveway.

Other than an upset bucket next to him, nothing said “big ruckus happened here.” So I decided to probe.

“Hey Chris, what’s going on out here?”

“Nothing,” he said, he didn’t even turn around, still watering the driveway. Clearly guilty of something or really intent on watering the driveway until it grows.

“There was quite a ruckus out here,” I said.

He turned around, “Yeah, I know,” and then went back to watering the driveway.

I looked at the garbage can. Actually I smelled it first. It stood there with no suggestion that it had been sent tumbling down the driveway by my husband and his powerful hose.

Wow that sounded wrong.

Then Chris told me he washed out the can and that he hoped it helped.

Politely, I said thanks and closed the door. Because for crying out loud it smelled like something had died twice in that can. For the love of clean air to breathe, Chris, I respect your initiative and your go get ‘em attitude with the garbage. But that can has been dead for quite some time. Can we PLEASE just buy a new garbage can? I’ll pay. Forget the joint credit card, this one’s on ME.

No sooner did those thoughts cross my mind than Chris came back inside. “I think we should buy a new garbage can,” he confessed.


Well it’s about time. Let’s say you and me do a little Home Depot tonight and go crazy spending 30 bucks on a new garbage can. If you really want to get even crazier we can fill it with garbage for the rest of the night while we breathe in our clean garage air. Crazier yet – put me inside of the clean garbage can while wheeling me up and down the street shouting “Elizabeth, Elizabeth, she’s comin’ for ya” to any neighbors we might pass by.

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