...somebody's got to do it!

I was starting to feel like I lived with Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout, the girl from Shel Silverstein’s poem who would not take the garbage out. It had been two weeks since the trash truck had passed through our neighborhood, so we had amassed a small mountain in front of our house. Why it chose to pass just as we were loading the car, dressed for dinner with friends, can only be answered by Murphy’s Law, African Edition. We heard the horn honk. Crystal and I looked at each other. The trucks stop in certain places and honk for everyone to bring their trash out. We finished buckling the boys in their car seats, then I loaded most of our mountain of trash (some of it was too disgusting) into the back of our car. Then we drove like mad, with the windows down to get fresh air, to find the truck. After we transferred the trash to the truck, we fumigated the car with scented bug spray!