It goes down pretty much the same way every time I go to the grocery store. I’m wheeling my shopping cart toward the food section and I pass home furnishings.
There they are, glistening in the distance. Shiny, beautiful, stainless steel trash cans.
I’ve had the same disgusting, rusty trash can since the year my 7-year-old was born but I can’t seem to purchase a new one.
Every shopping trip for going on eight years now, I stop and look and think the same dang thing. Man, that square trash can would look really nice in my kitchen. And, as I do every shopping trip since 2009, I tell myself I have bigger priorities. Like food. And toilet paper. And if I’m feeling luxurious I may buy myself a new razor. But I’ll probably talk myself out of that too because have you seen the cost of a good razor these days? I can use my dull one for one more week. And $49.99 for a trash can? Get outta here.
Then I leave them behind.
The trash can is my Moby Dick of grocery shopping. I’m beginning to think I will never own a new one. It’s just the way it’s panning out. Oh sure, I suppose I could get one of those flimsy plastic jobs for a quarter of the price but I don’t want one of those. Frankly, purchasing a new trash can has eluded me to the point that I may even have developed some kind of mental block about purchasing one.
Trash cans aren’t the only item I put off purchasing. It takes me forever to pull the trigger on new makeup, bras, and I don’t even remember the last time I bought new sheets for my bed. There’s always something necessary that needs buying before I can even allow myself the luxury of looking at sheets. I’ve got sheets. Sure they’re nearly as old as the trash can in my kitchen, but they’ll do. Diapers, milk, and bread, however, are a necessity.
Quite the life I’m carving out here, people. Purchasing a new razor, sheets, or a trash can is now something I consider luxurious.
Ironically, I can’t seem to stop purchasing taco shells when I’ve already got five boxes languishing in my cupboard. For some reason I see taco shells on the store shelf and I can’t ever remember if I have them at home or not so I toss them in my cart, get home and, inevitably, there are two boxes already there.
Such is life.