I just learned that I didn't win the Bombeck, Writing Competition. Oh well. I knew it was a long shot anyway, the competition is crazy good.
But, since it didn't win, I can share my entry with my readers here. I hope you enjoy it.
Down In the Dumps-ter
I've washed the dishes, scrubbed the bathroom, vacuumed all floors with carpet and mopped the rest. The last of the dirty clothes are in the dryer and the trailer is sparkling clean. So...it must be that five bags of garbage stinking up the joint.
Why's it so hard to get my husband to carry off the trash? I just don't get it. He drives past a dumpster in order to get out of the park. There are two more on the road before he gets to work.
If I load the truck for him he just drives it around until the neighborhood cats pull the filth out into the yard. Then it becomes a reason not to cut the grass.
"Booney, you think you could cut the grass today?"
"With all that trash in the yard? You know that'll play hell with the mower blade."
"Then pick it up."
"Aww maybe tomorrow. The game's coming on."
"In an hour and a half."
"Pregame show. We're out of gas anyway. I used up the last of it on that fire ant hill."
"Booney, the grass is so high it's coming through the kitchen window."
"Close the window."
"I can't! We need the air in here, it stinks with all the trash in the utility room."
"It's all those strays under the trailer. I keep telling you we need to get a dog."
"No! It's the trash!"
"All right, all right, you win. Go ahead and load it on the truck. I'll carry it off on the way to work Monday. ...Trish? ...What's wrong? Your face is awful red."
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