Like a complete asshole, last night as Mr. Manners and I were on our way to Longhorn, I backed into my recycling bin.

Now, around Christmas, I got into the habit of just leaving a bin at the curb to handle the ridiculous amount of catalogs I would receive. And the recycling dudes who come every Tuesday know this.

For some reason, it moved from it's normal spot on one side of the mailbox to another.

I backed into it twice last night. First, thinking I had hit my flower bed that is around the mailbox, I pulled forward, straightened out, and backed into the fucking thing again.

This time, however, I saw it.

Mr. Manners was slightly alarmed when I threw the car in park, jumped out, and proceeded to, in a complete fit of pique, kick the shit out of the recycling bin.

It is now broken.

My leg hurts.