“You are a broken robot bad robot head,” said Green Guy this morning as I left for my work day after cadging a cup of coffee from him. I am not sure that “broken” was the actual word but neither Radical Betty or I can remember the actual word. But it *was* a work day. Actually it all started last evening with the weekly preparations for garbage pickup…

The Commander: The garbage is all ready to go! I’ll just pull my car around and get it out of the garage.

Garbage Woman (hopefully): Did you get the bags in the shed?

The Commander: There aren’t any bags in the shed!

Garbage Woman: Ohhhhh, yeeeess there aaaaare…

The Commander: No, there aren’t.

Garbage Woman: Yes there are.

The Commander: That stuff is just old charcoal and stuff.

Garbage Woman: Nooooo, it is no-ot. C’m’ere, I’ll show you. [dum de dum de dum. Heads toward the shed.]

The Commander (approximate words): Well, why didn’t you say it was in the *barn*? I didn’t know what you were talking about!

Garbage Woman: Now, don’t panic when you see how many bags are in there…

Well, I don’t exactly remember what was said next but there were 6-8 bags in there. Garbage Woman swooped into action and stomped them all down and let the air out so they would fit into the two already almost full cans. And we loaded ’em into The Commander’s trunk and schlepped ’em up to the road. The End.

Until today:

• Lockview Laundromat: three triple-loaders plus a regular-sized machine for some towels The Commander found in her car after the fact. Started after 8 AM. Finished by 9:30!
• Sheets back on the upstairs beds: “Well, that’ll take you the rest of the morning!” opined The Commander. Wanna bet? 15 minutes flat! No, I do *not* make those fussy old nurse corners. Life is too short!
• Clean the bathroom and replace the moldy old shower curtain.
• Shake rugs and sweep the beach back out of the cabin, using a vacuum cleaner to suck up dust bunnies along the way.

I will never be able to emulate The White Tornado and you will not catch me ironing on the bank with my iron plugged into a tree. We’ll talk about my ironing exploits in the dank, dark, slimy Landfill dungeon another time. I hate housework and I am more like a combination of whirling dervish and out-of-control robot bad robot head when I do get down to it. But it was time and we are now ready for the next crew to come up. And I think I had more to say but The Commander is talking and that is a Good Thing (!) and whatever it was I wanted to say is definitely not more important than me sitting here talking to The Commander.

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