You’d better put the garbage out before things start to grow on it.
I’m your conscience, your logical mind, your brain, your obsessive personality, whatever you want to call me. You have garbage to take out. So take it out.
Taking out the garbage is a man’s job. I’m a woman.
Do you see anyone else here? You’re it by default. It isn’t hard to do. Do it now and get it over with before I explode or something. You’re making me crazy.
I’m in my nightgown.
That isn’t a nightgown. It’s a house dress. You think of it as a nightgown because you sleep in it. Put a brassiere on under it and everyone will think it’s a dress.
Yeah, I could do that. Where did I put my Genie Bra? Oh yeah, on the back of the chair, right where I left it.
Okay. It’s on. I guess I’m dressed now, sort of. I’ll just run a brush through my hair.
Sheeze, I look awful. I hope nobody sees me out there. I’ll just tie this scarf around my head. There.
Okay. You’re presentable enough for the lobby. So go, already.
Yeah, yeah! Go in the kitchen. Okay. Grab the garbage. Tie the handles together. Oof! This stuff weighs a ton. It’s the kitty litter. That stuff is like bricks. Now, don’t forget the keys. Okay. Got the keys. Keys are now in my pocket. Open the door. Step out.
Gah! I’m in the lobby, in my nightgown!
It’s not a nightgown! It’s a dress! The brassiere makes it a dress! Stop obsessing over it! You’re the only one who cares!
Okay, okay! I’m going over to the incinerator chute right now. There. Garbage is gone.
Oh no! Here come those two old biddies from Apartment 4B. They always have something unpleasant to say. Yikes! They’re looking at me.
OLD WOMAN (to other old woman): She could at least iron that dress!
ME (talking): You could at least iron your face!
Ouch! That was nasty – good, but nasty.
They didn’t hear me. They’re both deaf as rocks.
At least she didn’t notice you’re wearing a nightgown.
It’s not a nightgown.
Yes it is. I lied.