Re-use, re-purpose, ridicule, repeat

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It’s a good thing I’m opposed to clutter, otherwise, I’d surely be a hoarder. Everyone’s seen a road hoarder – it’s the car you look down into and see mountains of paper and trash and clothes, with a tiny cockpit area carved out for the driver – who is usually an itty old woman. We’ve all seen the trucks with four feet of debris on the dash, that just thinking about the condition of the bunk and sheets makes you feel like taking a shower. These are the trucks we avoid, because these are the people who wouldn’t think twice about leaving the scene after taking part of your bumper off in a parking lot. They’ve strayed far from the notion of “re-use and re-purpose” and right on into the realm of just plain no-pride nasty.

We try to do our part when it comes to recycling. Our group of family and friends may have teased George once or twice about his container habit – he has been known to save anything with a lid, and has an extensive collection of coffee cans filled with various pieces of this and that to prove it. I too have a hard time throwing things away – especially things that haven’t been used to their full extent. We’re huge fans of Goodwill, and keep a revolving bag of items slated for donation by the closet door. I’m fairly certain I’ve donated and bought the same shirt three times, but it all goes to charity, right?

Keeping the number close, in case I need a ride home. (It’s still a neat bracelet.)Keeping the number close, in case I need a ride home. (It’s still a neat bracelet.)

So sometimes I may go a little overboard with my re-purposing efforts. It’s for the planet, so back off, yo!

We’re riding down the road, happy as clams (why are clams so happy, anyway?) when he notices my recent recycling efforts.

“Uh, babe, correct me if I’m wrong, but is that a cat collar you have on your wrist?”

“Yes! Isn’t it neat? It glows in the dark.”

“Meow. Really? Meow.”

“Why are you meowing at me? It was too small for our fathead cat, and I had already thrown the tags away, so I took the bell off and used it as a bracelet. Isn’t it neat? It has little skulls on it and they glow in the dark and stuff.”

“And stuff? What stuff? Do they have flea repellent embedded in them? Are you chipped, too? Meow. I guess I don’t have to worry about you wandering off at a truck stop anymore.”

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“Stop meowing at me. It’s a neat bracelet.”

“If you’re a cat. Meow.”

“It matches my necklace.”

“Oh Lord, where’d you get the necklace? Pet Smart?”

“Laugh, funny man, laugh. You bought it for me, turd burglar.”

“I bought it from a turd burglar? What? Meow.”

“Shut up and leave me alone.

“Meow kay.”

“I hate you.”

This is where I flounce to the back and slam the curtains (which is really not as much of a statement as I’d like it to be) and rethink my recycling efforts. Sometimes, being kind to the planet is hard. Meow.

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