Not last night, but the night before,
Three tom cats came knocking on my door.
One had a fiddle, one had a drum,
One had a pancake stuck to its bum.
On a snowy January night, a variation of the above playground song came to mind. Take note, this isn’t a cute, nostalgic story where I want to skip rope and chant rhymes. It’s a doggone tale about a stinky tail. Something indeed stuck to one’s bum, but it wasn’t a pancake.
Wednesdays are special days in my neighborhood. It’s the day that Marc “Somebody” stops by to clean out a little corner of my world. He painlessly rids us of the grime, goo, and waste that fits into our 96 gallon trash receptacle. He does this weekly, before the birds sing. Oh how I love garbage day!
After recently cleaning out our basement, I donated “treasures” to the Salvation Army and an excessive amount of trash to Marc’s truck. Dumping all those bags made me feel like Santa when he tosses sacks of toys into his sleigh. The basement overhaul required two Wednesday visits from Marc. I was tempted to bag up the rest of the junk and spread the holiday cheer into each of my neighbors’ cans. I stopped myself though, remembering an incident that happened years ago with the family next door. Continue reading “I Trashed the Neighborhood: Part I”
