Wednesday is trash day where we live. It's my job to make sure the trash gets taken out. Normal people would take their trash out to the curb on Tuesday night, but in our house, it goes out on the curb Wednesday morning. It's partly because I don't have enough cans for all our bags and the animals get into them, but you see where this is going...
So Wednesday morning comes around and I hear the trash trucks making their rounds. Off comes the CPAP mask, on goes a pair of shorts, and I make for the door post-haste, grabbing the trash from the kitchen to add to the collection pile. The trash goes out and all is good. "Smooth," I think to myself. Fashionably late, yet punctual. Pat on the back.
The night before, my wife had left an "extra" bag of trash, or so I thought, next to the kitchen trash bin. It's been known to happen when she's cleaning around the house and throwing things away. So naturally when I see a black trash bag sitting near the trash bin that is tied and ready to be taken... I take it.
Well apparently, somehow, somewhere along the line, there was a verbal communication that that particular bag had a greater purpose. It was destined for the cleaners.
So I'm down a recently purchased (and tailored) suit, and she's down five of her "favorite" dresses and a jacket.
Yep... just me and the CPAP tonight.
Good news is we saved on the cleaning bill!