Trash Day

For our neighborhood, 'Trash Day' is on Tuesdays. Every Monday afternoon, I drag the big fat nasty trash can around the side of the house to the street for the trash people to get the next morning. **Disclaimer: I've pretty much convinced myself that the reason I take the trash to the street is to help Matt out. He has no problem doing it but I figure it's one less thing for him to have to worry about on a Monday night.** And trust me, it's not a far walk at all and it usually takes me all of 40 seconds to do. Well today was another story. I went out like every other Monday to move the trash can and I could barely budge it. It was packed FULL and Matt had cut the grass this weekend and must have dumped all the grass clippings in it plus probably one or two couple hundred pound weights. (That's a rough estimate). So I stopped and thought a second. My first thought: Do I really want to help Matt out today? And then my second thought: Just because I have a 17 month old and haven't played soccer/really worked out consistently in 5+ years doesn't mean I can't handle this stupid trash can. And now hindsight thought: I am so stubborn! You guessed it. I went for it. I heaved. I grunted. I literally broke a sweat. And came very close to using a few foul choice words. While I would have said we have level terrain prior to moving the trash can, I could draw you the most precise topographical map of the 15 feet I walked. It is indeed NOT level. I'm finally about to make it to the sidewalk and wouldn't you know it, there was an older lady walking by who I am sure heard me the ENTIRE time. As soon as we made eye contact she said, "Are you alright?" I had just gotten my momentum going so I couldn't really stop to answer her question until I got the darn beast on the street. So there. Mission Accomplished. I told the lady there would be another free showing next Monday afternoon if my husband cuts the grass again.