Taking Out The Trash 

My husband is really good at taking out the trash. I almost never have to ask or remind him. Turns out that isn’t always a good thing.

Today we planned on returning/exchanging a few newly purchased items to Nordstrom Rack and TJ Maxx which I had so diligently set by the door. (Can you guess where this is going?) Last night when I got home I noticed the bags were no longer there.

“Honey, what happened to the items we are returning tomorrow?” I asked.

“What items?”

“The ones I bought Friday and put by the door. We were going to return them Sunday but you said we should wait and return them tomorrow.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I’ll spare you the rest of the conversation but one thing led to another and next thing you know I’m quite agitated and we’re searching the house and digging through the recycle bin with a flashlight. Nothing. That left the trash can, which much to my dismay only had one bag. You see, that trash was picked up two days ago. That trash along with my brand new, burnt orange over-sized v-neck shirt and picture frame.

I was livid. I walked into the house and went straight to the bathroom. As I brushed my teeth and stared at myself in the mirror I thought about something a dear friend wrote in my bridal shower book. A woman sets the tone of her home. In the context of eternity $40 really doesn’t matter. The shirt and picture frame really don’t matter. People do matter. My husband matters. I knew I had an opportunity to determine how the night ended. I sighed, rinsed my pride down the sink with the remainder of my tooth paste and went to find my husband.

I wrapped my arms around him and said as lovingly as I could, “Thank you for being so good at taking out the trash.”

And they both lived happily ever after.

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