There comes a time in certain people’s lives, generally men, when bin scheduling becomes second nature. Yesterday evening I watched my neighbour place his bin outside his garage ready for emptying this morning and I imagined the following comedy sketch, I hope it makes you laugh.
John: “I’m just popping to put the bin out for the morning”
Estelle: “No problem, John, I’ll put the veg on and dinner will be 10 minutes”
John: “Okay love,”
A moment of realisation flickers through John’s mind.
“Oh good Lord, what’s happening to me, I can’t believe that my life has come to this point, Estelle”
Estelle: “What’s the matter, sweetie?”
John: “I’ve become Mr Patterson”
Estelle: “What, who?”
John: “You know, remember he was our neighbour in our first house.”
Estelle: “What made you think of him after 30 years?”
John: “He always knew which bins to put out and on what day. Remember, we used to laugh, we joked about him always knowing and getting it right. We took the Mickey out of him, we both said he must have his bin schedule on a notice board in the kitchen”
Estelle: “Oh I remember Mr Patterson he was a sweet old guy”
John says: “Yes, I’ve become him! You’re now married to Mr Patterson.”
Estelle: “Oh, I didn’t like him that much”
John: “Estelle, this is not funny, how do you think I know the bin schedule?”
Estelle: “I don’t know, I just assumed you remembered these things”
John, in a moment of blind panic
“Come with me, come and look in the kitchen. Look on the notice board, what can you see?”
Estelle rummages through the scraps of paper pinned to the board and finds the printed bin schedule in a garish lime green.
“Oh John, you don’t have to worry about these things. We all get there eventually”
Over dinner 30 minutes later, John’s alarm over his predictable routines comes to the fore again. Poised with a forkful of peas,
John: “Estelle let’s just go, let’s break out from this predictability of life. We could go to Tangier, you could make jewellery, we could eat figs and honey.
Estelle: “Oh John, that’s a lovely idea but,
John: “Estelle I don’t want to finish up my life worrying about bins. We could die in this suburbanite life.
Estelle: “Yes but John, what would you tell the children? And anyway, I’ve got Zumba on Tuesday evening.”
Is this the virus that’s giving me a wild imagination or, when this is over shall we all do something daring?
I miss the spontaneity of a life before MS. I miss going away with just the barest essentials. I don’t like having to plan as if it is a military operation. I don’t want to have to think about hoist slings and commode chairs and spare catheters, just in case. I want to be that person who packed just enough knickers. I want to be the woman who wore her t-shirt two days running and had a mix of bikini bottoms and sarongs. My bikini days are well and truly behind me, mostly on my bum, but I can still dream of those days when my requirements were so scant.
Perhaps I should start again with a capsule wardrobe!