Buying a bin

Buying a bin is not the most exciting title for a blog post. However this post might show you how very different myself and my husband are when we approach things.

Let it first be revealed that I hate kitchen bins with a passion. I just cannot get my head around why you would want rubbish anywhere near where you prepare food and sometimes do your laundry. I know the rest of the world thinks otherwise but I am not the rest of the world.

When we came into this house, there was a small bin which I instantly moved justifying its relocation to Himself on the basis that the dogs would easily get into it and cause a mess.

We create a lot of rubbish as a family of five. The bin was not big enough. So we agreed we needed a bigger bin. I had in mind an outside bin ideally one of those galvanized metal types that we used to have in the Seventies and Eighties before the recycling madness took over.

So in that romantic fashion that we have, we had an afternoon out to find a bin. We looked up Mr Bricolage which is the equivalent of B and Q here and found it was conveniently located in the same town as the swingers club that Madame in the bar invited us to some weeks ago.

We found a huge out of town shopping centre and tried Magasin Vert assuming this would be a gardening shop. This seemed the case initially but then we came across shelves of clothing. My husband who is always an expert on places that he has never gone to before announced that they would only sell industrial type clothing. He soon changed his mind after I started lusting after designer shirts with designer prices to match. The shop was random so I loved it and my husband found it a challenge. There were pets to buy, animal equipment, soaps, incense, Christmas decorations and trees and just about everything you could think of really including a reindeer of the life-sized variety and a shed with a robotic teddy bear for free.

In fact, the only thing they seemed not to have was a bin. We eventually found Mr Bricolage with my husband expertly steering me away from a Depot Vente. It was nearly closing time by then. We found some bins and my husband chose a design that he felt would be perfect in that the dogs would not be able to open it. I sulked and said I was actually looking for an outside bin anyway. Stand-off.

He was not to be moved so I relented and we agreed on a mushroom colour type thing. Then he went into apoplexy saying we could not have it as there was no box which meant they did not have one available. This was said as we stood right in front of the bin. Is it me? I said I was sure they would sell us the bin anyway and we did not need a box to go with it. He looked at me as if I was insane and set off to find a trolley.

When he came back, I compromised again. I got my revenge though by choosing a bright red bin but, hey, it had a box so he was happy enough although would have preferred the more boring grey.

The indoor bin cost us 40 Euros whereas the outside one I wanted cost only 6 Euros. I rest my case.

Life Love and Dirty Dishes

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