No, this isn’t a euphemism for life, although I suppose it could be. I was cleaning up after dinner, flipped the switch for the garbage disposal and was greeted by the most horrible noise imaginable. It sounded like maybe a piece of it had broken off. Did I immediately check under the sink? No, absolutely not. I am not that brave, and we can’t afford to fix anything, so I first started digging around in the garbage disposal.

It should be mentioned at this point that I spend a fair amount of time digging around in there, perhaps more than average. I hate to cook and my wonderful husband happens to like it. This means that he does all of the cooking and I handle all of the clean-up. A fair trade, you might think. Mostly. The truth is, though, his love of cooking somehow leads to him using every single pan we own to make a single, typical weeknight dinner. And even though the results are generally spectacular (he really is a good cook), he always manages to overflow something along the way, so cleaning our stove is never a good time. Quite often it takes me longer to clean up from a dinner than it did for him to make it… but I digress (get used to it).

So anyway, the garbage disposal. I started digging around in there and came up with several small, beige, shell-like things. I was temporarily mystified. They were perfectly smooth, having been polished by the garbage disposal, and several were cracked in half revealing their hollow interiors. They were small, but they wreaked havoc. The garbage disposal wouldn’t rotate at all until I dug out every last one. It wasn’t a fun process, as I have larger-than-average hands for a woman. I am quite literally big-boned. When I dye my hair, I struggle to get my hands into the gloves that come with the kit. I can almost never buy a ring off-the-rack… my fingers are too big. Annoyingly, in spite of my giant hands, my skin is delicate. I blister the palm of my hand every time I vacuum. Seriously. Wait, where was I? Oh, yeah, the garbage disposal. So anyway, they were cherry pits, as you might have surmised from the title. With every bit of cherry removed, they were nearly unidentifiable, at least to me. I stared at them blankly for several minutes.

Once again, the heroine saved the ailing garbage disposal, which will live to grind another day. Which probably seems less than exciting… did I mention I tend to write a lot when I’m stressed out? Yeah.

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