We have this gargantuan industrial strength slash bomb shelter trash can in the kitchen. I truly have a problem with it. It hates me. It wants me dead or mentally diminished. Everyone else thinks it is neato and cool. I think it is designed to create upheaval and general chaos every Wednesday night. It is silver and looks great in a stainless steel world. It is a refugee from the U of I where I am sure the cleaning staff just loved it and probably had to use health insurance occasionally to recover from the mental strife and physical injury it may have caused. Really I cannot find any good reason why the U would have gotten rid of such a marvel in garbage disposal. So I wake at three this morning and attached to my brain is this letter from the trash can. It reads as follows, Dear Brad and Angela, I love you guys. I am just here to remind you that sometimes life is hard and every once in awhile it stinks. Please do not throw me in the scrap pile!! I am begging you. I will last forever. I can be handed down from generation to generation. If you ever need to hide a small child, I am your can. I was not made in China. Mice could never chew a hole in me and I look stunning in the kitchen. PPPPPlllleeeaaassee, if you need to get rid of something that is dirty and sucks, but not literally, lets talk about that mind blowing vacuum cleaner.... I will always love you no matter what form of nastiness you stuff inside me, BCF, The Trash Can
Posted on: Thu, 03 Oct 2013 09:09:42 +0000
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