WHAT’S SO FUNNY:March of the good hubbys

Early on Tuesday evening in our neighborhood, you’ll hear the scrape of wheels on pavement and driveway as the Good Husbands march out to the street, rolling our garbage bins ahead of them. For Wednesday is pickup day.

We know not how other husbands may choose to live, but as for us, the expired products go in the big blue one, the cardboard and cans in the gray one and the yard waste in the green one, and all go out to the curb on Tuesday evening, for Wednesday is pickup day.

I say “we,” but I’m not really an official member of this group. In fact, I often forget to take my garbage out until I hear the Good Husbands doing it; I kind of bring up the rear.

But I do finally, usually, step up and wheel it out there. I’ve got the GH spirit when it comes to garbage. And next week, when there’s a later pickup because of the holiday, I’ll roll out that extra barrel, and be happy to do it.

I want that stuff out of here — especially the packing material so common at Christmastime. And most especially the Styrofoam popcorn. We almost lost a daughter to Styrofoam popcorn.

When Katie was a toddler, like many children, she still tested some new objects by taste. And when you’re 18 months old, Styrofoam popcorn both looks and feels like it might taste good.

One afternoon, around this time of year, while Patti Jo was in the kitchen and I was on the phone, Katie found an intriguing open package. The next thing we knew she had a piece of that stuff in her throat and couldn’t get it out, and Patti Jo and I couldn’t get it out, and when the paramedics came I was standing in the front yard holding our daughter upside down by her ankles.

Somewhere in the yard or the ambulance the popcorn disappeared and there were no after-effects, except I take a beta blocker to regulate my heartbeat now. Ever since then, we’ve tried to keep the house free of opened-gift packing. Katie’s not in danger anymore, but a toddler may visit someday.

So when you hear the scraping of the wheels next week, when you hear the Good Husbands on the march, I’ll be right there with them, rolling the Styrofoam and gift wrap and ribbon and pine needles outta here. And shortly thereafter, I’ll haul the Christmas tree out, too. We almost lost a cat to one of those.

I hope someday to attain official status in the Good Husbands. I think I’ve got what it takes, garbage-wise. I intend to apply for membership as soon as I’ve made sure there aren’t any other required duties. I’d like to be good, but I don’t want to be Stepford.