Today's notable milestones

It's a rare day that sees not one, but two notable and important milestones. I had to share. We'll go in chronological order.

At approximately 6:56 A.M. this morning, just as I pulled into my favorite gas station (it receives that categorization because it's full service and the attendant greets me by name), my car's odometer reached 90,000 miles.

Ninety-thousand! That's almost six figures, and six figures is a lot of miles for a car. She's nearly seven years old (to be more exact, 6.7 years, for those of you who are dying to calculate my per-year mileage stats), and though I stopped aging several years ago, she apparently doesn't share that gift (if only her issues could be fixed with a shot or two of Botox, her maintenance would be a lot cheaper).

That last sentence was not my way of saying that I have stopped aging by taking up a Botox routine. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but my method is simpler and cheaper and involves denial and the ability to perform creative math.

So that was milestone 1, and believe me, at 6:56 A.M. this morning, I had no idea that more excitement was in order--but it was!

Milestone #2: At 6:23 P.M. this evening (or thereabouts, I didn't check the time, but delivering a milestone without a time marker feels like I'm depriving you of critical information), I took out the garbage for the first time since we moved in. (For those of you playing stats at home, we've lived here for 2.2ish years, depending on when you calculate the move-in day, but that is neither here nor there for the point of this story.)

Going over two years without taking out the garbage is an amazing feat, especially considering how much B has traveled since we moved here. But he is a saint and understands that garbage-related tasks are among my most dreaded, and he always takes the garbage out before he leaves for his business trips.

Except this time. He took the garbage out on Sunday, the day before he left, but a ferocious collection of detritus had collected since then, to the point that my admittedly overactive olfactory senses were assaulted this morning when I walked into the kitchen.

My morning routine is breezy and fast, so I was able to get out of Dodge before I was overpowered. I considered my options on my way in to work. I could put the bag on the back porch, but what if animals got into it? I considered putting it in the downstairs bathroom and closing the door and letting B take care of it when he got home, but that wouldn't be fair to B or the bathroom (or myself, if I wanted to use the bathroom).

I had no solution, but I knew that the garbage would be waiting for me when I got home. Sure enough, the trash fairies hadn't come, and the bag was still there, except by this time, it had grown fangs.

The last bit might be a slight exaggeration.

I knew that there was only one way to fix the garbage problem. I was scared, but I gave myself a pep talk, held my breath, grabbed the bag, and headed for the dumpster.

And surprisingly enough, the experience was not that bad. We have a new dumpster, and it's still pristine, and the weather hasn't been too hot, and there weren't any bugs or small animals that wanted to attack me. All in all, it was not a horrible, traumatizing experience.

Taking out the garbage is not going to become a habit, but if, in another 2 years, it has to be done, I will step up to the plate.