Recycling Nazi

I have a confession to make.

I don’t recycle.

I know, I know… It’s good for the environment. Living green, preserving our natural resources, insuring our future generations still have space in their landfills for their garbage.

Blah, blah, blahbiddy blah.

Still, I don’t recycle.

Why you ask? Because in our house, my husband is a Recycling Nazi. And I, on the other hand, choose to rebel against any and all authority.

When I take the last of the Little Debbie Nutty Bars* out of the box, it becomes an obsession for me to get that cardboard box into the garbage can before my husband sees it. Because if he does, he shouts “Break that cardboard down and take it to the recycling bin!” with a possible outcry of “Heil  Recycling!”

I might just be imagining that last part.

Finish that bottle of shampoo? Don’t even think about sticking it in the bathroom wastebasket without checking first to see if it’s able to be recycled. Shame on you! Get it to the recycling bin!

OR, if you’re like me, you will stick it in the kitchen garbage can, as far down underneath everything as you can get it, to avoid getting caught by the recycling Nazi.

The other day I took the last of the Oatmeal Cream Pies* from the pantry, and as I was crumpling up the box to stick it in the garbage can, my husband snuck into the kitchen. He took one look at the box, looked at my face KNOWING I was going to hide it, and said “Just collapse that down and put it in the recycling bin.”

DAMN! Foiled again!

The garbage can in my office is full of empty water bottles, Pepsi cans, and probably more Little Debbie boxes*. God only knows the reign of terror I would succumb to should my husband take a gander in there. My method of throwing paper on top of it all probably will be figured out eventually.

So it has become a game. How dictator-y (yes thats totally a word!) he can be, and how rebellious I can be in return. The kitchen counter next to our sink is always full of items to be taken out to “recycling nirvana” (aka the GARAGE). Spaghetti sauce jars**, salsa jars, tuna cans, Campbells soup cans, ketchup bottles. It’s a competition to see how many things can pile up before someone gets fed up and hauls it to the garage.

Him being the neat freak that he is, makes waiting impossible. It physically pains him to see those things sitting out. Me being a procrastinator and avoider of all things “housework” could wait, like, for-EVAH.

So usually, I win! Viva la garbage can! (with a mighty fist pump in the air)

Marriage is bliss.

* On a side note, why yes. In fact, I DO have an obsession with Little Debbie snacks. We will save that for another post.

** Make my OWN sauce, you say? snort, giggle, snort. You’re funny.