Remember what I said about the garbage?

Well, I was right - after weeks of rainy, stormy weather with that cardboard box outside stuffed to the brim with unbagged trash, the bottom of the box collapsed. How do I know this? Was I there to witness the long-hoped-for removal of the trash? Did the girls finally come to their senses and vow never again to live in their own slop like pigs? Did the city come and remove the garbage because it was a nuisance? Did the landlords come by and finally notice the egregious violation of the rental contract?

Nope. I knew the bottom of that soggy, trash-clogged box gave way because it happened to me. All over my feet.

After Kenny spent days hacking down the chest-high weeds in the back and I had mowed the lawn (until the mower burned out partway through), raked dead and tangled grass in the backyard, and swept and washed down our walkway and stairs, I decided we had had enough of the disgusting eyesore out front. Bringing the upstairs tenants' trash can back from the curb (where it had been since Monday night), I slipped on my gardening gloves and bravely grasped the bottom of the box with both hands. The girth of the box filled my arms, pushing the flaps on the top open and exhaling garbage breath into my face. The bottom was soggy and the box itself worn and bent, making a sure grip impossible. Hoping for a second's reprieve but fearing the worst, I stood up with the box clenched in my arms, dangerously close to my chin. Before I could even fully extend my legs, the box closed in on itself and its wretched contents collapsed all over my grass-stained and porous fake Crocs.

Looking down in the dusky light, I could see potatoes, soggy newspaper, moldy bread, something curdled, and even a tampon wrapper. What to do now, with garbage juice seeping everywhere and darkness quickly approaching? I did the only thing left for me to do - I knocked over the garbage can with the lid toward the wreckage and began scooping putrefying lumps of trash into the can. It all actually went in pretty fast, and without any pity for the next person to lift that lid, I heaved the garbage can upright, picked leftovers out of the grass, and marched inside to wash my hands up to my elbows twice.

Okay, I totally admit that I'm blogging right now without having taken a shower, but a long soak in water and maybe some bleach is next on my list. After that? Making another ill-fated attempt to alert my landlords to the utter disgrace that is their property everywhere but 678 West.

The carnage: