The Trash

I'm not the kind of gal to peruse someone else's medicine cabinet or trash bin. I'm not hating on those of you who do (come on, 'fess up), I'm just saying I don't. When I'm using someone else's bathroom, I'm thinking things like, "Hope the toilet seat's clean" and "I wonder if the hand soap smells like apples ..." It never occurs to me to scan the medicine cabinet to assure myself I haven't befriended a psychopath.

Well, yesterday I decided to kill two birds with one stone. I planned to take Rain for a walk (she was teething and grumpy) and get rid of the foul kitchen trash bag Tim had forgotten to take out that morning (no Good Husband Award for you, Honey!). I put Rain in her carrier and heaved the bag to the door. The stench trailed through the apartment, and I was reminded on my way out to take the bathroom trash as well. So, with one large trash bag and one small trash bag in one hand, my keys in the other, and Rain hanging from my chest, we set off.

A minute later, we arrived at the apartment garbage collector. I flung my stuff inside. That's weird, I thought. The small trash bag felt so light when I tossed it. I checked the ground, but I hadn't spilled anything. Well, whatever, so I headed on to the apartment office to get our mail.

Rain and I enjoyed are walk, and she didn't cry once. I headed home with a happy baby and the mail in my hand. When I reached the pathway leading to our apartment, I saw it. A heap of trash sat in the middle of the sidewalk. Was I mad I had made a mess? Nope. I was embarrassed. I stared at the trash for a moment and thought, "What have I become?!?"

There was absolutely nothing strange, fashionable, or even questionable in my trash. There was floss, breast pads, Q-tips, and a wet diaper, for crying out loud! Where were my People magazines I used to casually read? Where were the containers of used lipstick that had to be discarded to make room for my new shade? Where were the empty bottles of high-end hair conditioners? Shouldn't there be a skin-care catalog in here somewhere?

There was something distressing about what was missing from my trash and what had been added. I promptly knelt down and grabbed as much of it as I could. As I was doing my best to gather it with one hand (had my keys in the other), a college-aged kid came bounding down the stairs in front of me. Her hair was dyed three different colors, she had a ring in her nose, army pants--the whole bit. She passed me without a word but an expression like "Ew, trash." I just gave a sheepish smile and scooped up the last breast pad.

Oh well. I told Rain, "Mommy's just realizing again she's a mommy. No big deal; just being silly. Now let's go throw away this trash ... in the trash ... again."