Please, children, hand me your trash. I love trash. The stickier, the better. If you have junk and the bin is too far away, I am your person. I am uniquely qualified within this family to place waste into various receptacles. This is my passion. This is what I live for.

Has your bubble gum lost its flavor and you can’t find the wrapper? That is A-OK! Please, spit that wet, hardened gum nugget into my hand. I know exactly what to do in this situation.

Would I like the crusty scab you just picked off your knee? Sure would. Hand it over.

Have you unearthed a petrified raisin from the depths of your car seat? Never fear, daughter: I’ve got this.

Did you dig up a used tampon applicator at the playground? Put me in, coach, I’m ready to throw away.

I’m a garbage-hungry trash hound, and you would do well to remember it. I know that getting up from the couch to dispose of your string cheese wrapper is a lot to ask, but fortunately for you, I am limbered up and ready for action. I’ve got a degree in debris, and I am delighted by detritus. I have charted every garbage can in a fifty-foot radius, and have placed litter into baskets hundreds, if not thousands, of times. Like my mother and her mother before her, trash collecting is my calling. You might say I was born for this.

You can count on me at all times to carry a little baggie on my person for all my family’s waste-collecting needs. My capacity for trash is limitless. My desire to handle other people’s garbage is unmatched. I relish rubbish in all forms. Junk covered in bodily or other fluids is preferred.

Snotty tissue? I have a pocket for that.

Skin shed by your bearded dragon? Mine!

Bottle of warm urine from when you relieved yourself in the car? Yes, please. I will take it with nary a grimace. Anything that you give me, dear son, is precious.

No scrap of flotsam (or jetsam) is too small for my attention. Clean up the pigeon feathers you stashed under your bed? A thousand times yes. There is nothing I would prefer to do more. Throw out that ball of cat fur you have been collecting since kindergarten? Gladly! This is what I have been training for. I am currently taking my first shower in a week, but will happily cut it short if you need me to deal with your half-eaten tube of Go-Gurt. Consider me a living bridge to the garbage can. I am forever at your disposal.

If I am ever more than an arm’s length away, do feel free to toss your trash in my general vicinity, as if you were shooting a basketball. Just throw it directly at my body. That is why I wear this target. Think of me as your friendly neighborhood raccoon. I am happy to feast on your scraps.

Have you chewed through another disposable face mask and I’m not around? Never fear! Go ahead and toss it straight on the floor. Or better yet, hide it under your pillow. I implore you to get creative. There is nothing I enjoy more than finding old tidbits of trash in unexpected places. It is true bliss. Better than hunting for Easter eggs. Akin to panning for gold.

And, husband, I so appreciate that you also hand me your trash. The children are still learning where to dispose of their rubbish, but you are clearly showing me that you recognize and honor my essential role in this family. I can think of no other reason why you would hand me a napkin that has been partially dissolved by melted ice cream.

Now, please, give me that bag of Fuego Takis. No need to leave one for me. I will savor the scent of leftover Taki dust, and that will be more than enough.