Talking to the bin

The new bin is called Mister Bin. I could not for the life of me imagine a bin being female. I welcomed him into his new home, showed him his place and wanted to put in a bag. That is where trouble began.

‘How did I screw that up,’ I muttered to myself when the bin was in the middle of the kitchen with the lid not closing properly. It looked like Mister Bin was staring at me with his mouth half opened. Any time, I expected it to start drooling, the way I would looking like that. I took the bucket from Mister Bin’s belly, put a bin bag in it and mistook the plastic ring for a tool to hold the bag in its place. A loud crack made me realize it was for decorative purpose only. I spent ten minutes trying to fix it, leaving me all sweaty and exhausted, even while sitting down.
Instead of kicking it (oh, the will power), I decided that ignoring our new household member would be the best solution. But of course, every time I walked into the kitchen, I bumped into Mister You Know Who.
‘You are not getting on my nerves. I won’t have it. I am not letting you spoil my day. I don’t even want to look at you.’
Soon after he got home that day, my partner fixed the problem concerning mister Bin. I hugged him for being the hero of the day. My partner, that is! I might talk to a bin, but holding it tight?! And now that Mister Bin is finely settled the way he should be, he is naturally the most handsome one I have ever seen.

Mister Bin and Mister Big

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This post is also available in: Dutch

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2 Responses to Talking to the bin

  1. Wendy says:

    What a hoot!
    I’m glad you felt like posting, and getting all up in Mr. Bin’s…. ummm face?

  2. Fleur says:

    I can proudly state that I am not (yet) talking to the plants! Thanks Wendy!

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