Trust Me.
My life is one bit of irony fading into the next. A prime example of that occurred this afternoon. It was disgustingly obvious that it was time to empty the dirt canister of our vacuum cleaner. As the man of the house, that chore falls to my charge.
I walked to the dumpster and threw open the lid. As I was shaking and banging the canister of filth, the wind blew and very silently closed the lid, directly onto my hand. After yelling angrily at the wind, I realized that with the fateful impact, my hand had opened and the canister was lost to the force of gravity. I peered into the dumpster and to my relief the canister was only halfway down inside, sitting on trash that I prayed would be the dry variety.
I knew I was too short to reach the canister and walked back to the apartment, grabbing a chair to offset that genetic misfortune. I set the chair very near the dumpster and, after looking around for witnesses, half-climbed in. I easily reached the canister this time and removed myself from the smelly, gaping jaws of the municipal waste bin. Brushing dirt (dry dirt, thank heaven) from my shirt, I realized that I had been dumpster-diving while advertising, “TRUST ME. I DO THIS ALL THE TIME.” on my chest.