Monday, July 20, 2009

Taking Out The Trash

Most women will admit, albeit grudgingly, to moments where they would love to be rescued by a man. Ah come on! So you’ve never contemplated doing bit of flirting to avoid getting your nails ruined washing your car? Or getting that spider squashed? Never even crossed your mind?

For me most of these moments involve taking out the trash.

Being a rampant feminist, I view ‘male’ and ‘female’ domestic tasks as totally outdated. Terribly passé.

[Okay, technically I’m more of an “equali-gist”. Word or no word, its descriptive right? Don’t expect me to go burning my g-string though. It could get mighty drafty.]

Point is, according to me there’s just plain unisex, everyone-hates-it shlep work. I don’t need a guy to fling his coat (or himself) over a puddle for me. I have very stylish black & white gumboots thank you very much. I’m also quite capable of killing my own creepy crawlies, changing the light bulb, doing the odd DIY project and, on the rare occasion where it actually crosses my mind: checking my car’s oil and water. Yet, when it comes to this one itty bitty domestic duty, I look for the nearest knight in shining armour!

I’m not a particularly squeamish person. I don’t flinch at Nip Tuck’s graphic surgery scenes or Fear Factors’ worm-gobbling nonsense. I watch whatever the horror genre has to offer with abundant relish. And I do so without having to watch peeking through my fingers. I don’t faint at the sight of blood and, as long as it isn’t a Rottweiler, I’ll even give the dog a bath. Yet, on my keychain I keep an extra long key, to a gate not attached to my door anymore, for the sole purpose of lifting the trash can’s lid when taking out the trash. Eeew…germs!!! The lengths I have gone to, to avoid touching the actual trashcan… Let’s just say that on occasion, more than one occasion, I have lifted the lid with one high-heel clad foot while balancing on the other, chucking the bag in and quickly snatching away my foot.

Now, get that mental picture out of your head. And stop sniggering. We all have our quirks.

I’m not sure how much truth is in the old saying “the path to a man’s heart leads through his stomach”, but the path to my heart definitely goes through my dustbin. Jewelry is nice. Flowers are okay. Lacy underwear is overrated. (Dude, you WILL get the size wrong. And there WILL be shit).

But when a man takes out the trash - without me asking – it…it takes my breath away. (Partly from disbelief). It makes me want to declare my undying love to wildly inappropriate men.

And have his super duper polite, helpful, magnificent babies. I mean, if they breed dogs to get a certain trait perfected… It couldn’t hurt to try, right?


  1. i wouldnt mind a man taking out MY trash, either!

  2. My man always takes out the trash - lucky me!...puppy dog eyes works like a charm, every time.