The house itself is actually quite lovely. We've been together for five years and have survived some highs and lows in our relationship. Highs includes punchy wall colors, sassy bathroom wainscoting, and a delightful porch bench that begs to swing as the temperature creeps higher. Our lows have been cataloged here in detail – lizards and friendly vandalism.
So what's the problem, you ask? It's trashy in nature, so consider yourself warned.
I have this long-suffering relationship with my garbage cans. The first dilemma is my memory that the trash is actually picked up each week. There's always this moment on Wednesday morning when I silently curse as I recall this task needing to be checked off. Then there's the actual movement required. It's probably 50 feet. But it might as well be 50 miles, because I simply can't seem to drag that trashcan back from the road. And since that road is apparently the final lap at a nascar event, the can doesn't always survive. This week's Exhibit A:
The biggest obstacle I face? Getting the garbage men to take the trashed trash can.