Let me clarify. Not the marriage itself but any social life that may have at one time thrived within the marriage is now officially gone. Pronounced dead as of tonight.
It was first killed off by training for an Ironman. Further killed off by both training for an Ironman. Further yet by getting a dog. Even more so by the fact that is has been winter in Illinois now for exactly one year. And now – this. What happened tonight.
There we were sitting on the floor after dinner (when you acquire a dog you find yourself often sitting on the floor), workouts done, dinner fed, wondering what to do.
…what to do….
Chris said it first, “I hate to admit that I want to do something but I have no idea what to do.”
Exactly my thoughts. So must we play this charade – that we have to go somewhere to do something even though we have nowhere to go. And nothing to do.
Still we play. So I come up with an idea.
Let’s cut Boss’ nails.
An attempt with one front paw and Boss declines.
I have another idea.
Let’s brush Boss’ teeth. Really this is one of my new favorite things to do.
I chase him with the little green toothbrush and he hides.
Clearly Boss wants nothing to do with grooming rituals tonight so as far as entertainment goes we’re going to have to find something other than the dog.
Let’s go shopping for a garbage can.
I’m not sure whose idea it was but it was a good one. Recently someone broke the kitchen garbage can. That may have been me. I make a lot of trash. Plus I hate our kitchen garbage can. Mostly because it is too big to reside in the kitchen and has its own zip code in the laundry room. You see, years ago Chris was on a Costco kick. I swear every other day he came home with something from Costco. Like a shop vac. Or an air compressor. Or the world’s largest kitchen garbage can.
I hated this garbage can. It was too big for tall garbage bags yet too small for big garbage bags so every time you threw trash into it you had to place it gently enough that you didn’t send the too small tall bag caving into the can. It sounds very complicated and it was. After all it was trash – there is nothing gentle or careful about it. Nor did I want to have to touch the bag once it fell in the can.
You can see this garbage can caused me a lot of headache. And so a few weeks ago when the bag caved in for probably the 1000th time in the past few years, well, I did what any woman would do. I stepped on that pedal that opens the lid about 1000 times. Furiously. The lid went up and down like a life-sized Mr. Mouth game while my mouth shouted expletives into the caved in bag.
Very entertaining but a scenario like this and something is bound to go wrong. And it did. Lid flipped right off. Oh crap. We have just trashed the trash can. So I let it sit open for a few weeks but that allowed all sorts of odors to escape. Plus I realized that the lid really did hold the bag in the can. Now the bags just cave in all the time.
Of all things I want to go shopping for on a Saturday one thing is not a garbage can. But I don’t have a better idea of what we should do so why not. I’m game.
We started by getting some gas. Then went to Home Goods to check out their selection of garbage cans. None that we liked. Walked around the Jewel. Stopped at Jamba Juice (for Chris, not me, I am disgusted by any place that smells like wet sponge and is run by two teenagers wearing their visors crooked while a large man grinds wheat grass in the back – that picture is and was VERY wrong). Then after all of that we decided to complete the suburban redneck circle of Saturday night life by going to the Wal-Mart.
Understand that we live in a fairly nice suburban area. It’s not like we are in the middle of the sticks with Home Depot about an hour away. No, there’s a Home Depot on every corner around here. What surprises me, though, is that despite the semi-affluent flavor of this place you go into a Wal-Mart and it’s like you walked into a slice of southern Alabama and you didn’t miss a beat.
Which means we fit right in. Chris with his ball cap and supersized Jamba Juice cup, I with my general foul demeanor and crazy woman hat. All we need is a small child hanging off one of our legs and we would be typical Wal Mart fare.
We made our way to the garbage cans and for crying out loud the one I like cost 80 bucks. I am willing to pay as long as it is small enough to actually put into the kitchen but Chris has another plan. He will find a replacement lid. Ok – I would say we have better things to do with our time than search for replacement parts but clearly we don’t so I leave it at that.
Back at home Chris takes this lid replacement very seriously. For the next hour he searches online for a replacement lid and asks me if I remember the name of the garbage can (no), when it was bought (no), other details that no one should know about their garbage can, details I don’t care to share so I just scowl instead which leads him to say to me…
You seem like you’re in a bad mood.
Really? Might it have something to do with the fact that it is Saturday night and we are playing 20 questions about…the garbage can? What happened to us? Where did the social in our life go? At what point did we decide that chasing our dog with a toothbrush and shopping for a garbage can counted as a Saturday night? And how do we get a normal life back? Of course I don’t say these question which means he doesn’t hear them which means he is back doing his thing…
I see him staring at the computer which is filled with images of dozens of stainless steel garbage cans. I cannot believe my eyes. I now pronounce our social life dead.
Overstock.com has a nice one for 100 bucks.
100 bucks? Are you kidding?
Really? With a no-touch lid? Consider me sold. And, say, while you’re at it see if they have anything that looks like a Saturday night. Because it looks like we might need some replacements for those too. Seems like those and social lives around here are in short supply and if we can overstock them for next time we might not find ourselves shopping for a trash can on a Saturday night.
And you might as well throw in a tube of puppy toothpaste, too. For Friday nights.