Let's get back to the 12 Days of Hickness, shall we?
Hick has a penchant for foisting his version of "manspread" on the homestead kitchen wastebasket. For some reason, he sees fit to take up as much room as possible in the trash bag.
Even before I inherited the trash duty from The Pony who got it when Genius left for college, I tried to condense our refuse as much as possible. I'd like to say it's because I'm a friend of the environment, but the main reason is that I grew tired of playing Wastebasket Jenga. Hinting and cajoling and pointedly demanding that the trash be taken out to the dumpster fell on selectively deaf ears. I had to balance items precariously on top of other items until the underside of the counter where the wastebasket resides was reached.
Now I take the trash bag out when it's full. Which doesn't mean that it should be full in less than 24 hours. Here's evidence of how Hick disposes of his used items. They're already above the rim. This happened to be after ONE meal, when I had brought him leftovers uneaten by me or my favorite gambling aunt from the all-you-can-eat platter at The FelineFish Skillet. Yes, we use a lot of paper plates and foam bowls. Sorry, Environment. It's not you, it's us.
I'm not proud to say I dig through the trash. But I do. I have to rearrange. To put plates with plates along the edge, and nest bowls in bowls, and pack that wastebasket like I'm preparing a space capsule for a moon mission. Items must be compact. Take up as little room as possible. After my renovations, the bag looked like this.
Ten towering trash bags? That's a lowball estimate. More like ten thousand. At least Hick has been putting items IN the trash bag. Rather than leaving a banana peel stuffed in the cushions of the La-Z-Boy.