My Brain & My Other Brain #2
- Yehuda & Maya Devir
- May 7
- 5 min read
It started, like most disasters in Yehuda and Maya’s marriage, with one small and innocent sentence: “I’ll do it quickly.”
It was 11:47 PM.
The three kids had finally fallen asleep after an evening that included:
Three cups of water, two existential crises about the wrong blanket, a philosophical argument about why you’re not allowed to eat cereal in the shower, and a guest appearance by an imaginary monster named “Poopasaurus.”
The house looked like a National Geographic crew had documented a baboon attack on a modern kitchen.
On the counter: Dishes.
On the floor: Lego.
On the couch: A child’s shirt nobody remembered putting there.
And inside the trash can?
A compressed psychological mass of diapers, tuna cans, wet wipes, rotten bananas, and broken dreams.
Maya stepped out of the shower exhausted, wrapped in nothing but a small towel and enormous irritation.
And then she saw it...
The trash bag.
Open...
Leaking...
Filled beyond the laws of physics...
She looked at Yehuda, who was buried in his phone wearing the calm expression of a man who doesn’t realize he’s one second away from death.
“Yehuda,” she said slowly, “why does the trash can look like someone tried to shove our entire lives into it?”
Yehuda didn’t even look up.
“Because there was still room.”
The silence after that sentence was so dangerous that even the air conditioner decided to work more quietly.
Maya closed her eyes.
Counted to three.
And when she opened them again, she made a decision.
Not out of logic.
Not out of peace.
But from the deep madness that arrives to exhausted mothers at midnight.
“Forget it,” she hissed as she started walking toward the trash can. “I’ll do it myself before you ‘organize’ the garbage with your hands again.”
“It works,” Yehuda mumbled.
Maya was already halfway to the kitchen.
At that point, she didn’t even notice the towel slipping off on the way.
Or maybe she did…
And simply no longer had the mental energy to care.
And so, barefoot, furious, half naked, and filled with the rage of an exhausted mother —
At 11:52 PM, she found herself battling a trash can like a gladiator warrior.
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