There’s nothing quite like realizing you have forgotten it is garbage day (again) to make one feel like an accomplished adult.

After all, it’s not as if the garbage truck is some sort of stealth vehicle that nips in and out on random mornings and steals your trash like an anti-Santa. They are not chaotic beings pulled along by strange attractors, that may or may not pass by my house on any given morning. They are not quantum units that only sometimes exist in Euclidean space (ah Wikipedia, I should know better than to start playing in thee) or ghosts of garbage trucks past that collect only memories…

Nope, they come every Tuesday morning at roughly 8:30, baring holidays or hurricanes.

They have done this for the entire seven years we have lived in this house.

I’m going to go curl up in a corner, sip my coffee, and pretend that I was well aware of this fact prior to opening my front door and seeing that my neighbors are all actual adults and not just pretending.

Sip.