Cameron takes the trash out on Wednesday night – unless Monday is a holiday and then he takes it out Thursday night. Of course, Tuesday and Wednesday could be holidays as well, but it’s not as common as the Official Government Mondays. Not that this has any bearing on my point, other than last night was Wednesday.

Cameron came up to me out of the blue – well, black night – and said, “I thought someone stole the garbage cans.” Not what you would expect to hear, especially when you know said cans are full of garbage. This is what happened:

I abhor putting out trash that isn’t in the cans; I stomp it if I have to. I climb up on a stepladder and step onto a piece of cardboard I have placed at the top of the mound of air-filled trash bags. And the level goes down by about a third; it used to be a half but my ranting has earned a bit of improvement, although the people with whom I live are recidivists. Big old frustrating recidivists!

Yesterday it was raining so I did not brace the cans against the outer garage wall; I wheeled them inside the garage where I stomped. I did not notice the bulb was kaput on the garage ceiling. The cans are dark; the garage was dark; the space where they usually  sit was empty . . .  Oh, my gosh, someone stole our garbage cans!

But then he found them and that’s all she wrote.