This, that, and the recyclables
the ghost of eve is generally more compact, but we're talking heavy metal petal density weighing upon this here reader – the name alone seemingly containing an entire gender species (not that I'm expert on gender the way so many seem to be these days).
I took a serious crack at pondering What does corruption smell like?, and what came to mind was it depends on the quality of the deception aspect of the corruption: when poorly done, it smells like shit; when well done, it smells like cotton candy.
Let's say we host a party. Invariably, the trash bin winds up with recyclables, and the recyclable bin winds up with trash. How could something so simple be seemingly unsolvable by even NASA's best scientists?
And the biggest offenders are my partner's eldest daughter and her husband, who seemingly haven't a recycling bone in their bodies, and by far drink more fluids from cans and bottles than anyone I've ever met. Their visiting includes an absolute guarantee I'm going to have to spend an hour+ sorting through the aforementioned bins, cleaning food/trash off recyclables, getting things in the right bins, and scouring my hands when done. It's honestly enough to make me cringe whenever I hear they're visiting.
And, yeah, of course I could ask them to be more thoughtful, but there's more than a few degrees of trepidation given it's my partner's daughter (who is seemingly incapable of doing wrong in her mother's eyes).
I guess I could also simply “let it go” – i.e. just do the damned work and STFU.
But it just strikes me as borderline impossible I'm still experiencing such at all. I lived in a state in the late 1980s that required recycling, and the duplex I was in quickly provided the proper bins, which – all these faithful recycling years later – led to the sorely incorrect belief that by now everyone must be down with the programme...