The Magic Trash Can

We have a magic trash can in our home. It's in the kitchen, oval, white, 13-gallon model.

I know it's magic because when I go out of town for a few days, you can put as much trash as you want into it and it never gets full. Ever.

No one complains, no one says anything, and no matter how much is crammed into or stacked on top or beside the magic trash can, it will still hold more. At least no one ever changes the bag.

However, the second I return, the magic trash can is full. Only when I am there. I sometimes wonder about that, because it looks to me like it must have been full before I got home. That's the magic. No one can empty the trash can but me.

I'm sure that our magic trash can was designed by professionals to be easily emptied by children, working moms, and pretty much anyone who is capable of putting trash into it in the first place. You don't have to be an engineering type or an information technology guru to figure out the process.

And yet, our trash can is never full, never in need of emptying until I am present. It's magic.

I'm not grousing over it, really I'm not. I don't have any particular aversion to bundling up the stinky garbage and carting it off to the garage. I'm happy to spread a fresh, clean bag into the trash can so that it looks empty to me, too.

I have an important role in our home. If part of that function includes taking out the trash, so be it. I will shoulder that burden gladly if it helps the family out.

Besides, if I rebel too loudly, I'm sure the subject of the magic clothes hamper will come up.