A Hard Habit to Break

My husband has a new habit.

Apparently, he has been driving our trash around town.

Part of the joy of living in an apartment complex is that someone else takes care of the trash.  All we have to do is get it to the one and only compactor.

Sounds easy?

A few nights ago, Ismael stood in the living room, stopped dead in his tracks, and began laughing.  “The trash. I forgot to throw the trash away. I put it on the car before I left, but didn’t go to the dumpster.”

A quick check of the car roof and the street showed that the trash was nowhere to be seen.

I don’t know who found that bag of garbage AND nasty diapers, but I’m deeply, truly sorry.  Really.

Today, he came home from the mosque after celebrating Eid after 30 long days of Ramadan.   A celebration.

And again, the laughter.

Only this time, the garbage made it all the way to the mosque, about five miles away.  He pulled in the parking lot, hopped out of the car, and was met face to face with the black garbage bag.

So he left it on the car.

Drove it back home.

And dumped it in the compactor. (I hope).

So if you see a car driving around Indy with a sack of garbage on top, please for God’s sake, pull up alongside and tell my husband to go home do his ONE chore correctly.  We would consider a public service.

Thanks.

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