His Actions Speak Very, Very Loudly.

I wake with a start.

“What day is it?”

Tuesday? Wednesday? Wednesday, I think.

“I am forgetting something….what is it? Think, think, think. Wednesday…”

“Oh, shoot–Wednesday! This is the day Chelsie can use the internet, and I haven’t written her an email for the week. Crap. Wait, what time is it?”

Time…time…what time is it? Of course, I have to reach for my glasses, because even though our clock projects the current time on our ceiling with bright red digital numbers, I nevertheless cannot see what time it is without some form of optical aid. [Nobody should ever lie on the eye exam as a kid. Not that I did, or anything…] And anyway, it’s morning now–bright enough that the vibrant red digits probably wouldn’t be visible on the popcorn ceiling.

Glasses located, I reach for my cell phone. It’s 7:45 a.m. (Who am I kidding? It’s totally 9:30. But leave me alone–I don’t have kids or a job. [Or a life, I guess.])

“Nine-thirty. I bet I still have time to write Chelsie a quick email and send it to Brazil.”

Ten minutes later, I close my laptop and lay back down–I still have 20 minutes before ten a.m., and why get up before ten? I mean…really…and I’m so tired…

…so…

…tired…

…I start awake again, sitting up in my bed immediately. I’m still forgetting something.
“What day is it again? Oh, Wednesday–I remember now. Wednesdays are miserable. What’s with that silent ‘N,’ anyway? I guess it isn’t really silent–it’s just that everybody pronounces it before the ‘D.’ We should change the spelling of Wednesday. I’ve always thought so. Either that, or start pronouncing it ‘wednezday.’ But wait–I was trying to remember something else. What was that? Let’s see…it’s Wednesday. I already wrote Chelsie… Wednesday… Wednesday… Wed…nez…day…”

Trash day. That was what woke me–I’ve heard the truck on our street.

“Nooooooooooooooooo,” I cried mournfully, my voice low as though in slow motion. But I’m not in slow motion–I’m in…fast motion. I leap out of bed wearing only my unmentionables, and quickly–lightning quick, even–throw on a hoodie and sweatpants.

“The truck can’t be far. It’s getting closer. I swear, if I miss trash day again, I will rub my nose our growing pile. That’s what we did to Sampson whenever he relieved himself on the new carpet. Dadgum dog.”

As I swing open the bedroom door, I have a prime view through the hall and out the front window. I can see our neighbor’s house. The neighbor to the right of us. And the trash man is already there.

I’m too late. Again.

I really hate Wed-nez-days.

Dejected. Defeated. Disheartened.

I trudged (To trudge: the slow, weary, depressing yet determined walk of a man who has nothing left in life except the impulse to simply soldier on–Geoffrey Chaucer [thank you, A Knight’s Tale, and may you rest in peace, Heath Ledger. You were very attractive. Not that I noticed…because I’m married. But before I got married–when I was still in high school and that movie was released–I may have noticed.]) into the kitchen, forlorn.

Walking past the barstools towards the fridge–where I hopefully find some orange juice to nurse my aching heart–I catch a glimpse of brown from the corner of my eye.

“Brown…brown…our trash can is brown. But our liners are…green! Then why did I see only brown?”

Taking a careful step backward, I cautiously peer down…

…at the empty bin.

“How is this even possible? Were we robbed in the night? No, I locked all the doors and windows… Could it be? Poor Kyle? He took out the…the…the trash?? Oh, this is too much. I’m touched. Overwhelmed, even. That dear, dear man. He loves me. He really, truly loves me.”


Tears are now streaming down my face with this realisation. And also with the realisation that I will not, in fact, have to trash-train myself with my nose in the refuse this week.

Some might say I’ve lowered my expectations.

But I will tell you one thing–I love that man. I love him with a love that is fierce. And strong. And that is exactly how I always expected to feel about the man I would eventually marry. So I’d say my expectations are met…

…and…very possibly exceeded.

About Camille

I'm Camille. I have a butt-chin. I live in Canada. I was born in Arizona. I like Diet Dr. Pepper. Hello. You can find me on Twitter @archiveslives, Facebook at facebook.com/archivesofourlives, instagram at ArchivesLives, and elsewhere.
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12 Responses to His Actions Speak Very, Very Loudly.

  1. linda rae says:

    Oh my gosh you will not believe THIS. His father ALSO took the trash to the curb that day without being reminded!

    But I will have one up on you.

    He is going to wash my car on Saturday.

    Inside and out. Vacuum. Armor-all. Polish the wheels. The whole treatment. That’s how he does it.

    He loves me.

  2. Anonymous says:

    Millie,

    Truly humorous! Love it, love it! I agree with you about the whole Wednesday thing, by the way. Another fault of the growing list to the English language.

  3. Geneva says:

    That is so sweet! I really think doing chores is the way to my heart as well.

  4. Joel says:

    So in your family the WIFE takes out the trash?!? Seems I have been deceived… No, tricked! I have been tricked into doing a thankless job by a cunning wife! And SHE never blogs about how HER husband took the trash out! Outrage!

  5. Anonymous says:

    winterpeg, man it’s cold out.

  6. Anonymous says:

    How sweet! That really made me smile :) It’s so cute how much you guys are in looooooove!

  7. Alicia says:

    That was a sweet post, Camille. I’m glad your expectations have been exceeded. :)

  8. Jami says:

    isn’t it funny how your expectation CHANGE…not lower…just change when you get marriend. I mean the things that make me love spencer all the more are so funny now. Getting up with Grace, washing the dishes, things of that sort. When we were dating it was like buying me something, doing romantic things. Crazy huh!

  9. Anonymous says:

    I’ve always pronounced the D silent. But anyway, there’s a book called, I’m not sure, but something like the 5 love connections. Anyway it says there’s like 5 different ways we feel loved and it explains them all. Good book.

  10. Anonymous says:

    fascinating camille.
    been listening to myself say it….the almost silent d after n, sounds like “when’s day?”
    d before n,d implied in the n sound, sounds to me like what you said…wed-nez-day.
    i’m still calling it wed’n-z-day though.
    was reading a german blog today, your reference struck me, how easy it felt to see words in english, german and french.
    wednesday seemed a bit german derived at that moment.

    i gots ta git me a germn ainglish dictionarry.

  11. The Lowry's says:

    Oh, I echo exactly what you feel about the trash. After 4 1/2 years (which really isn’t that long) I am still trying to convince Jeff to take out the trash. It can be heaping over and he will still just put things on top and somehow they balance there until I go to put something in the garbage and can’t believe how full it has gotten and then proceed to empty it, take it to the back and fill it with a new bag. He has only taken the garbage out 3 times that I can remember and every time I try to let him know how happy and excited that makes me that he will share in the awful task, but alas he still doesn’t do it. Oh well, I have long gotten over it. So I was so excited for you that Kyle took it out! Go Kyle!

  12. Anonymous says:

    This is a fun one… It could be a mini movie, you waking up, realizing it’s garbage day. Trying to get it out on time and crying when you fail. But the ending, it is a happy one. Poor Kyle the super trash guy sweeps in and gets it out in the nick of time… I’d like to see that! :) ~A

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