The trash is not Mrs. Hillbilly Mom’s responsibility. Not in the basket, not on the floor, not in T-Hoe. Because, you see, if it WAS her duty, you would NOT see such a Mount Trashyfest gracing the Mansion kitchen, perhaps tempting mountain climbers to scale its lofty heights. Woe would be those who nearly perished crossing the Discarded Sock Face, or, who, but for a well-placed crampon, would have slid off the Strawberry Water Plastic Field. Not such a great view for those who reached the summit. However…if they desired a Nature Valley granola bar, they could have tossed their wrappers down into the paper plate crevasses of Mount Trashyfest.
No, trash is not Mrs. HM’s responsibility. It was first the duty of the #1 son. When he absconded for college, trash was passed down to The Pony. He usually remembers to take it to the end of the driveway by Thursday morning at 7:00. But sometimes he must be reminded to take it out. It’s not deliberate denial as with #1.
On Thursday, Farmer H took it upon himself to take the dumpster to the end of the driveway. I have no idea why it had to be done at 9:00 a.m. Trash pickup was going to be a day late because of the holiday. As you may remember, Thursday was Thanksgiving. Mrs. Hillbilly Mom was makin’ trash all day, in preparations for the 5:00 o'clock feast. So helpful was Farmer H with this unexpected task that he bought himself TWO more trips up to the end of the driveway to add two more trash bags to the dumpster. Silly Farmer.
At least he rode up there three times in his Gator. It's not like he was getting any exercise.