L. and the baby (who is not such a baby anymore but I can’t stop calling her that) were leaving for some lunch and so forth, and I heard a slight plastic crash and scrape sound. I knew instantly the recycling guys – and not the garbage guys – had left the empty bin half in the driveway and she’d pushed it into the street with the car.

The bin and the car are fine. When I was younger I stopped having lunch somewhere when they’d see me in the parking lot and start cooking my order, but now something like this happens and all I do – and maybe all I can do – is smile. And look for the bin before pulling out.


This was published on 30 Jun 2005.
A permalink to this post: a sign of being domesticated.

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