There was something different feeling about my first step into the apartment after work tonight. Almost as though there was some sort of container underfoot. When I turned on the light and confirmed this, I have to say, I was pretty damned confused.
For the past two days, I have been taking measures to prevent Dirty from getting into the kitchen while we’re at work. There’s a door that closes, but apart from the two main doors here, none of them actually latch shut. No, I put a chair behind the door, using my index finger to drag it along as I close the door as much as possible. I then put a gate up in-front of the door, raised so that she can’t walk or jump over it, but too low to crawl under.
Surprisingly, it wasn’t the kitchen she got into. No, she got into a shopping bag left in the living-room, which was apparently chock-full of plastic containers. Needless to say, it looks as though someone just took a pile of containers, threw them into the air, crane-kicked the shit out of them, and then brought a couple back into the bedroom for room cross-pollination purposes.
THE CONTAINERS WERE CLEAN!
There wasn’t a trace of food on them, and were just waiting to be recycled! Yet she spread them across the apartment and made damned well to run her own inspection on their cleanliness. Quality Control on recyclables is serious business in our household.
