A statuesque piece of plastic sits majestically in TRL’s* garage. Long and tapered at the end, shiny white, waiting for transportation to the dump. Which is ironic. And not like rain on your wedding day. It is TRL’s arch nemesis: the Diaper Genie.
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Repository for all things stinky, broken five weeks into C&E’s lives, necessitating an extra twist and the use of scissors to detach its shit-stained inner plastic from the container.
The boys are now in underpants, and the Diaper Genie has served its usefulness. But unlike the changing table, pack-and-plays, cribs, and even the number 4 Huggies, all fine tools forging a partnership with TRL to keep C and E happy and dry, the Diaper Genie was always at odds with its mission.
First, it broke. Then it stank. And it had to be constantly emptied. A function of its service, you might say, but if Genie is in a name, TRL wants to see magic. As in stinky diaper goes in, and disappears. Forever. No cutting, no prying, no brown-smeared plastic to wrestle with.
TRL wants David Crapperfield. Harry Poo-dini. Now you see (and smell) it, now you don’t. But the Genie was all name, no magic. So it is with great excitement that TRL banishes it to the garage. And next stop, the dump. The last one for this Genie.
TRL is a father of twin 3 year-old boys, a househusband, and a man trapped in suburbia. His blog is Diary of a Desperate Househusband.