It's S's job to take out the recycling. He does not love taking out the recycling so he procrastinates, meaning that we end up with a mountain of recyclables in our front entrance. Last night we went through the familiar routine of me trying to balance a can on top of Mount Recyclable, followed by said recyclables tumbling down into a big messy pile, followed by me losing my shit, followed by S taking the recycling out.
So I'm in the kitchen and I hear Stella making the weirdest noise. She was actually groaning with pleasure. I look over and she's on her back, rubbing herself all over the floor. She was so spastic I thought she was having a seizure. I run over (to do what, I'm not sure) and the smell hits me. There was an old milk carton in the recycling bag that leaked when S moved it. There was a trail of stinky, spoiled milk from one end of the kitchen to the other and Stella was rubbing herself in it. I grabbed the paper towel and the cleaner and set about cleaning up the mess, when I realize that my puppy is missing. I follow the stench to the bedroom where I find her curled up in our bed, lost in some sort of stinky, spoiled milk induced ecstasy. In the 30 seconds that Stella was in our bed, the stench managed to permeate our sheets. S taking the recycling out (a 5 minute job) resulted in me scrubbing the kitchen floor, washing every bit of linen on our bed (including the duvet cover, which is annoying because then you have to stuff the duvet back in and I Hate stuffing the duvet back in its cover) and bathing the monster.
This is his argument as to why he shouldn't have to do the recycling. Cheeky bastard.
Our condo still smells like spoiled milk and Stella can't stop smelling herself.