Extinction

Our microwave died this week. It was a dinosaur that my parents bought for us the first week of our marriage. It was huge and took up tons of counter space. It was brown and black. I think it was one of the first models to have a button for popcorn popping.

When it died I didn't even cry. I didn't mourn its loss. I just figured, hey, we'll live without it. It's gone to a better place, microwave heaven.

Then one night my eldest said {very loudly}, "I can't believe we don't have a microwave, this is so stupid!"

I only needed it once, last Sunday, for softening butter that had come directly from the freezer. But, I figured out how to live my butter-softening life without it. I used time. That's right, I was patient.

So the big beast was taken away. H. told me he was going to put it directly into our garbage can. I thought for sure the microwave would be stashed into some dusty corner of the garage until a trip to the dump arouse. But, no.

So this morning I get a call. "I forgot to take out the garbage."

"The one with the BIG FAT MICROWAVE in it?"

"Yep, that's the one."

Me, in my best Napolean Dynamite voice, "hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, can you bring me some chapstick?"

"Just ask the nurse, she's got like five sticks in her drawer."

"Sick!"

So I got up from my chair, wearing PJs and slippers and threw on a big yellow and green jacket we inherited from a friend years ago, thinking this would be enough to keep me warm in subzero temps (close enough).

I used the shovel to remove the snow from our driveway to the garbage. Then I saw what I knew was going to happen one week ago but decided to promptly forget and deny, that our garbage was spilling out of the can for our neighbors to see. Then I used the shovel to remove the snow from the top of the garbage can. Then I started trying to move that dang thing. Then my hands were frozen from gripping the handle with snow on it. Then there was snow in my slippers. Then I reached inside the jacket and used the endy bits to cover my hands and tried again.

Then I finally got the can up onto the top of the driveway. Then I fixed the can so that I could basically steer it from the front as I let gravity bring the can down our half icy driveway. (The top half is snow/ice free, but the bottom half is a mess.)

Then I prayed I wouldn't fall and break anything because that would really Scrooge me out and I've been feeling pretty scroogey already.

Then I got down to the end of the drive and parked the can directly behind my car so when I pull out I need to remember NOT to hit the can.

Then I trudged inside, muttering under my breath, "You're welcome!"

Then I remembered all the bajillion times my dear husband does these things and I never have to think about it. And then I thought,

"Thanks honey, you're the best!"