Well, That Wasn't The Plan

I swung the full garbage bag in the air, only a little nervous that the macaroni & cheese box would poke a hole in it and dirty Kleenexes, apple cores, empty beer cans, and eggshells would rain down on my head.

With an expertly executed wrist-flick, I let go of the handles and watched the overstuffed cloud of a trash bag sail through the sky.

A perfect arc: big white poof, skinny fluttering yellow handles, tiny silver glint sparkling in the morning sunlight.

Tiny silver glint?

My keys.

"Goodbye, goodbye!" they jingled and giggled as they sailed into the dumpster.

Update: A Trip To The Dentist

I may have mentioned my love/hate relationship with oral hygiene (as in: I love brushing my teeth/my dentist hates me).

I had to go back to the dentist on Wednesday to get a cavity filled. Despite being a total masochist, my dentist actually does a pretty good job of numbing your mouth before he starts drilling around in there. A really good job, actually. As in, "this should wear off in about two to eight hours" (eight?!).

The point is, I left the dentist's office at about 5:00 with a totally numb left side of the face. Mouth, teeth, lips, cheek-- numb. Left nostril? Definitely not responsive. Left eye? Yup. A little droopy.

That means it was time to play my favorite post-dentist game. It's called "Look In The Mirror And Try To Smile Even Though Your Face Is Really Droopy On One Side!"

It's hiiiilarious!

Because you try to smile, but you only can with half of your face, which is hysterical, so then you laugh, but you're only laughing with half of your face, which is even more hysterical, and then you laugh even harder, because you look like a total freakazoid, and the cycle goes on and on until the toilet flushes and some lady comes out of the stall in the public restroom and, refusing to make eye contact, washes her hands and darts outta there at lightning speed.