Tam slept in, having fallen asleep on her futon in the clothing she'd worn that day. The cats dozed, having been fed two hours before when I all but sleepwalked through setting out their breakfast. It was a warm, drowsy morning. Bees hummed in flowers outside, tickling them for pollen. In the distance, air brakes squeaked and chuffed, followed by a faint hydraulic whine--
Which prompted Tam to wake abruptly, saying, "Ohmigawd!"
Bobbi: [crossly, half-awake if that]: "Wha...?"
Tam: "The trash! It's not out!"
Much bustling about and door-slamming followed. Tam hauled the trash can around; I gathered up the liners from waste receptacles* in the kitchen, office and so on, and by the time I had them ready, Tam already had the big trash can out front.
Trash usually runs on Friday, but the Monday holiday had pushed everything back a day. (Pity the poor trash-hauler: he may get holidays off, but he still works the same number of days that week, no matter what!)
We haven't (as nearly as we can tell) missed the collection truck. And, bonus, we're certainly awake. Better or worse than sleeping 'til noon? --Probably better. I keep telling myself it's better.
* We are so high-class these days. Those used to just be smaller trash cans, back in the Old Times.
T. R. MCELROY'S STREAMLINED TELEGRAPH KEYS
1 year ago