It’s 7:29am and I am getting ready for work. I am super excited because it’s Friday and that means Jeans-Day! It doesn’t take much to excite me at 7:29 in the morning. So far, I’ve made it into my jeans and my sweater and then suddenly, I hear the terror inducing sound of the garbage truck.
Crap! We forgot to take the garbage to the street! I run for my crocs, throw them on and bolt out the door. Our can is overflowing due to the recent IKEA trip and I am having a hard time maneuvering through the backyard to the gate. My hair is down and looking more like the cowardly lion after a tornado than a human being. As I break free of the patio furniture, I am gaining momentum. Victory! The truck is getting closer.
Seconds later, the giant green can comes to complete and swift halt pinning me between it and one swinging part of the gate. The other side of the gate, not wanting to be left out, then swung open with such force that I went down. And hard. Then as if some kind of cruel joke, the first gate broke free and slammed into the back of my leg.
Not one to give up, I jumped up, grabbed the can and ran to the street at the precise time the driver was pulling up. I flashed a sheepish grin and waited for him to unload our week’s worth of trash and dragged the can back behind the house. I limped back inside to find my darling husband and adorable dog laying in bed looking up at me wondering what they missed. I fell down. I fell down on the ground next to a big giant can of garbage. In front of the whole neighborhood.
I hope somebody got it on tape.