When we got married I felt certain that trash removal was rightly in the province of husbands. I do not recall ever reading it in our marriage license anywhere but I was sure. 

 

This was material for unmet expectations. John did, in fact take out the trash on countless frosty mornings, or late at night while I was tucked in bed. When he did, my gladness report read "Neutral. Duties performed."

 

The days he did not, set my discontent response into overdrive. I prodded. I bugged. I stewed. In terms of emotional energy it consumed upwards of seventy five watts. Sometimes I was rash enough to take it out myself. That would show him. But if he did haul it out in response to my complaints, my gladness report actually lowered. "Substandard. Needs improvement."

 

Then something shifted. Perhaps it was watching my neighbor dragging his cans to the street during a time when he was struggling with health issues. I wondered. Maybe I could take out my own garbage, and what was more remarkable, I could do it without fanfare. 

 

I tried it. I noticed that the work expended was less than two watts, even if it was also recycling day.  It was faster than sending pointy mind messages to John, and it also got me outside to see the stars.