No word of a lie.
Today, I missed catching the garbage truck. My hubs always collects and puts out the garbage and recycling (sometimes I assist), but I got up later than planned and couldn't throw out my moldy, rotted flowers in with the trash.
So I improvised.
We have this high-falutin' food chewer-and-spitter-upper in the sink in our new place. It's called an InSinkErator, or garburator, and once I got over the insane guilt it caused me for not green-binning the organic waste, I started to kind of love it.
I'm evil, I know.
Stinky food peels? Garburatored.
Shit like cores and inedible vegetable parts getting in my way when I am (trying to) cook? Garburatored.
Mildewy flowers that have clouded their vase and are emanating a horrible rotten smell? Well, I would normally say garbage. But... I missed the truck and those babies smelled like rotten alien poo laced with a maggoty barn.
So... I figured... since I was sorting through what was still alive and salvageable right there at the sink... that... well, hey there, garburator! Flowers aren't so different from vegetables, right?
I'm sure you've handled worse, Garburator! In fact, the old owner of this house said there was nothing you couldn't chew up! So...
I started jamming rotten flowers down the sink. Despite my common sense telling me that it probably wasn't wise.
(Re-reading that caused me to break into laughter. Dear gawd this baby is going to be so screwed once it is born...)
Though, it was fun to watch the longer stems spinning around chaotically while the garburator did its thing... I kept squinting, half expecting daisy shrapnel to find its way back up and into my eyes.
So... the really hard stems still went in the garbage, which was okay because they weren't stinky. I threw a few more things in the sink as I sorted. Then I realized that some of them actually had a thin green wire threaded through them to keep them Viagra-proud and upright.
SHIT.
Pretty sure metal wire is NOT garburate-able.
Though I am 99% sure that I hadn't tossed any wired flowers down there, I was still convinced I had somehow busted our new-fangled fancy sink doodad. It seemed like stuff was still spinning, and water was spitting back at me when it shouldn't be. Dammit!
Fast forward to when the hubs is home.
I admit I shoved flowers down the sink. He looks at me in disbelief, probably remembering how impossible many of the stems were to trim, on the night he brought them home to me when I was quite sick.
I hadn't explained that I threw those super tough motherf*ckers straight into the garbage.
His next comment?
"Did you put your hand into the garburator to see if there was anything stuck?"
Seriously.
I mean, really, seriously.
Anyone who knows me knows EXACTLY how that scenario would have ended up. I would be raising this kid eventually with one hand and one prosthetic limb. All for the sake of a kitchen doodad.
No, sorry honey, I didn't put my hand into the terrifyingly whirring, spinning, bladed, sinkhole of destruction. For once, just ONCE, I realized that the potential gain did not outweigh the more-than-likely loss.
Ah, husband. I should have gotten rational points for that one. Really.
Seriously.
So he shoved his hand down there.
Into the garburator, I mean, you pervert.
And he declared that was what they did when stuff got stuck in their garburator growing up, but that it felt like it was all clear.
Hmph.
Last time I'm honest about jamming inappropriate things down the garbage disposal.
_________________
Pin It Now!
Today, I missed catching the garbage truck. My hubs always collects and puts out the garbage and recycling (sometimes I assist), but I got up later than planned and couldn't throw out my moldy, rotted flowers in with the trash.
So I improvised.
We have this high-falutin' food chewer-and-spitter-upper in the sink in our new place. It's called an InSinkErator, or garburator, and once I got over the insane guilt it caused me for not green-binning the organic waste, I started to kind of love it.
I'm evil, I know.
Stinky food peels? Garburatored.
Shit like cores and inedible vegetable parts getting in my way when I am (trying to) cook? Garburatored.
Mildewy flowers that have clouded their vase and are emanating a horrible rotten smell? Well, I would normally say garbage. But... I missed the truck and those babies smelled like rotten alien poo laced with a maggoty barn.
So... I figured... since I was sorting through what was still alive and salvageable right there at the sink... that... well, hey there, garburator! Flowers aren't so different from vegetables, right?
I'm sure you've handled worse, Garburator! In fact, the old owner of this house said there was nothing you couldn't chew up! So...
I started jamming rotten flowers down the sink. Despite my common sense telling me that it probably wasn't wise.
(Re-reading that caused me to break into laughter. Dear gawd this baby is going to be so screwed once it is born...)
Though, it was fun to watch the longer stems spinning around chaotically while the garburator did its thing... I kept squinting, half expecting daisy shrapnel to find its way back up and into my eyes.
So... the really hard stems still went in the garbage, which was okay because they weren't stinky. I threw a few more things in the sink as I sorted. Then I realized that some of them actually had a thin green wire threaded through them to keep them Viagra-proud and upright.
SHIT.
Pretty sure metal wire is NOT garburate-able.
Though I am 99% sure that I hadn't tossed any wired flowers down there, I was still convinced I had somehow busted our new-fangled fancy sink doodad. It seemed like stuff was still spinning, and water was spitting back at me when it shouldn't be. Dammit!
Fast forward to when the hubs is home.
I admit I shoved flowers down the sink. He looks at me in disbelief, probably remembering how impossible many of the stems were to trim, on the night he brought them home to me when I was quite sick.
I hadn't explained that I threw those super tough motherf*ckers straight into the garbage.
His next comment?
"Did you put your hand into the garburator to see if there was anything stuck?"
Seriously.
I mean, really, seriously.
 |
| Hahahah, yeah right, like I'd have a manicured nail like that. If I did, I'd be keeping it far away from the garburator. |
Anyone who knows me knows EXACTLY how that scenario would have ended up. I would be raising this kid eventually with one hand and one prosthetic limb. All for the sake of a kitchen doodad.
No, sorry honey, I didn't put my hand into the terrifyingly whirring, spinning, bladed, sinkhole of destruction. For once, just ONCE, I realized that the potential gain did not outweigh the more-than-likely loss.
Ah, husband. I should have gotten rational points for that one. Really.
Seriously.
So he shoved his hand down there.
Into the garburator, I mean, you pervert.
And he declared that was what they did when stuff got stuck in their garburator growing up, but that it felt like it was all clear.
Hmph.
Last time I'm honest about jamming inappropriate things down the garbage disposal.
_________________