When I went to brush my teeth my reach for my hair clip was slightly less targeted then on most nights. My small finger brushed the hook holding the hair bands, and they fell to the sink, floated actually, like leaves in a forest. As they scattered about I noticed three amongst the tens. Tattered and torn, the three hairbands were disgusting counterparts to their unused brethren. Scornfully, I picked them from the wreckage of clumsiness and walked the few steps to the trash can.
In a flash I thought what a shame it was to throw away another temporary article of convenience. I imagined people with no hairbands and mountains of trash filled with the forgotten details of our consumerism. The hairbands and bottle caps, the twisty ties and clothing pins. The myriad of tiny things we throw away.
I stared at the three hairbands, contemplating their future use. What can a ratty old hairband do? And in another flash, my mind spins up a film of myself as an old woman. I am in a house filled with tiny things. Things I had tried to save from the landfill in my own pathetic attempt to be slightly less wasteful. The trash is piled up around me and a cat meows in the distance
I threw the hairbands away.