The telephone rings rather early, while I’m in the shower at the precise moment when I have a bunghole full of soap. I know who it is and I need to grab it (the phone, not the soap in my ass. Well, maybe both. Wheee!).
Guilty as charged.
“This is Tony from Hollywood Sanitation. I’m looking at your email….hey. Are you still bleeding?”
Not at the moment. Actually, I’m rinsing.
“Aah, good, good. Look, um, is your recycle bin still out there? They never picked it up?”
I guess by “They” you mean “You,” right? Well, yes, it’s still out there, it’s broken badly, and I have a house full of cans and papers and bottles with nowhere to throw them but the regular trash.
“No need, sir. I’ll be out there myself today to pick it up and leave you a new bin. Your pickup day is Tuesday, right?”
“No problem. You’re all set for tomorrow. Sorry for the confusion.”
Thanks for your help.
And damned if that’s not just what happens. The old bin and its contents vanish, and we have a shiny new one to fill, which we do, immediately. Let’s see how long it lasts before the cavemen strike again.
Meanwhile, I discover that I placed the soap in the phone cradle and stuck the handset up my ass. I’m not a morning person. And the damndest thing about that is I don’t discover the error until the phone rings again. Oooooh. Stimulating.
Get that, will you dear?