So, as you could have learned in earlier posts, my new husband and I are each a little weird… me with my slightly OCD neat and cleanliness, and him with his germaphobiness.  I can immediately notice when something is out of place:  shoes that need to be in the closet and not in the middle of the floor, remote control that should hibernate in the remote basket and not on the coffee table, dishes that reside in the cabinets and should not be left in the sink…  Naturally, when I came home a few nights ago, I took my usual scan around the house to see what needed to be done after Tony had been home all day alone.  The phone was missing from it’s cradle, so I asked where it was.  Tony, of coarse, was clueless and never remembered using the phone.  He hit the page button and we looked in every room, the beeping always seeming farther and farther away.  The paging beeps were loud and clear near the cradle, however.  Tony held the trash can to his ear and found the source for the beeps.  In the trash can?  The phone, which I hold in my hand, against my face, is in the trash can?  The kitchen trash can, no less, with left-over food, coffee grounds, junk mail, and all else that is gross.  Tony looked unbelievingly into the abyss of goo and then back at me with a look that said if the phone was to be retrieved, it would be by my hand alone.  And so I dug through the gunk and rescued the phone, dripping with who knows what, and proceeded to wipe it down.  You can rest assured that it is in full working condition and germ free (approved by Tony) if you are ever at my house needing to make a call.