DON’T TELL BOB
I’m so nice.
Bob mowed the lawn for the first time this spring.
The first mow is a huge job because the grass is so thick.
He sunk down into the couch in exhaustion, and then he said,
“Oh I forgot, it’s trash night.”
Because I’m so nice, I said, “Don’t get up, I’ll do it.”
And then I instantly regretted my offer.
Because it was already dark.
There might be spiders.
Or a possum.
Or maybe even a cow.
Bob rolled his eyes and said, “Never mind, I’ll do it.”
But I insisted.
I am not a coward.
Well, I am, but still…
I braved the dark suburban wilds to haul the cans to the curb.
Bob told me not to worry.
I am small.
If anything should happen, he could easily fit me into one of the trash bins.
I was not reassured.
Not one bit.
The entire trash-can-hauling-in-the-dark incident turned out to be completely uneventful.
But don’t tell Bob.
He might expect me to do it again.