It is trash night in our neighborhood. That means tomorrow morning between 6 and 10 three trucks will pay us a visit.
One picks up the plain old trash. The second recovers recyclables (ours includes plenty of beer cans and bottles, thanks to my son). The third picks up what I call yard waste -- bags of leaves, branches . . . .
But on Trash Eve, some items disappear. It is well known around here that if the dog peed on your chair and it's not worth cleaning, or if the vacuum cleaner is broken and not even your mechanic son can fix it, you put the chair and the vacuum out with your trash and someone else will come along and pick them up within about 20 minutes.
Well, tonight I strolled around the corner during my evening constitutional with my favorite black Lab mix, and to my great delight I found a toilet! Out with the trash! Honestly, who throws out a toilet? And in this case, will one man's trash be another man's treasure?
I want desperately to find someone to sit on it, perusing a magazine, while drivers whiz by and ask, "Martha, was that a man sitting on a toilet in the street?"
Martha of course replies, "Don't be such an old fool. You need new glasses."
And I will take photos of it all before someone comes along and ruins the scene by making do with someone else's toilet.