“Clara, can you help pick up this trash that is here in the hallway?”

“Sure,” she said, and started towards it while I carried somethings downstairs. When I came back I realized the trash was still on the floor, and Clara was sitting in a chair in the living room.”

I opened my mouth to yell at her, but she jumped up and waved her hands in objection, “Wait wait wait! Let me explain.”

I folded my arms across my chest and waited

“Okay,” she said “So, I started to pick up the trash, but after I picked up the first and second piece I realized something important.” Her eyes grew dramatically large, “I realized something dangerous even.” She paused for effect.

“Get on with it little girl.”

“Okay… I discovered that I’m very allergic to trash!”


“Yes. Anytime I touch trash I get really allergic and itchy all over.”


“It’s true! If I touch anything yucky, or icky or … you know, trashy, it makes my throat wiggle around like this!” She pointed at her neck while she made her adam’s apple bounce up and down a few times.

“That does not happen.”

“So, you can’t be allergic to trash?”

I turned and pointed back towards the hallway.

“Yes sir…” she slouched out of the room.

If she spent half as much time obeying as she spends thinking up elaborate excuses… but then again, she is my daughter unfortunately. So, let this be a lesson for us all. Excuses are transparent. Excuses are weightless. Let’s tear through the excuses like paper and rush forward into the tornado of trash with smiles and obedient hearts and make sure our children are watching. I raise my glass in honor of trash and proclaim bravely, “Here I am trash! Do your worst! And in so doing make me a man!”