Every Monday night I feel this way, because every Monday night I have to take the trash out to the curb.
I’ve already done the other “manly chores.” I’ve been in the backyard and scooped the dog’s poop. (The dogs I never wanted but now adore.) I’ve put up the Christmas lights inside and outside.
And, now, I’m taking the trash to the curb.
I didn’t plan on this. I thought my husband was going to do these types of chores. Right now, I hate all women who don’t have to take their trash out. Those women, whoever they are, better not drive by my house, smile and wave. I’m cold, wet and ornery.
As I walk back up my driveway, I see my Christmas lights turn on, compliments of me installing the light timer. My mood suddenly shifts.
I did that.
I put up the lights, installed the timer, and they came on. They lit up when they were supposed to. Not once did I have to nag the lights to come on. Not once did I have to beg for the timer to be installed. I did it, and I did it when I felt like it. They obeyed.
Kinda like tonight.
My trash is at the curb. Where it belongs. Because I put it there.