As I headed out of the kitchen, trash bag in hand, my load suddenly felt lighter and a wet, sticky sensation swept across my feet. Jabs of pain radiated down my thigh.
Earlier that day I had hastily tossed a broken wire hanger into the trash can. I didn’t think it was a big deal, but apparently the metal stick landed in just the right spot to tear open the bag and simultaneously gash my leg.
I stood surveying the stinky mess that blanketed the floor I had scrubbed two hours prior. What was once pristine was covered in filth.
In that moment I did a lot of futile wishing.
I wished that I had never thrown that hanger away.
I wished that my leg wasn’t throbbing.
I even wished that my name was Carol Brady and that my trusty housekeeper named Alice would clean up the mess for me.
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