We have a rather fancy garbage can. And I take full responsibility, nay, pride,  for its presence in our otherwise nothing-special kitchen.

It was love at first sight. I was seduced in broad daylight by an in-store demo at a Bed, Bath and Beyond (Reason) store. I was in the checkout line, all set to leave with my new shower curtain, when I made the fatal mistake of glancing back towards Kitchenware.

In front of a pyramid of dazzling white garbage cans, a chubby sales guy was showing a couple of retirees the wonders of modern sanitation. What impressed me was the look on their faces. They were clearly in awe. And they weren’t alone. I could see a couple of other shoppers also observing from behind the safety of a stack of garden hoses.

Demo Dude stepped forward onto the garbage can pedal. The lid yawned open like the door to Aladdin’s cave. He tossed a clean paper napkin into the sanitized can, and paused, glancing around at the gathering crowd. Then, stepping back, hands in the air in full-drama mode, he stood silently staring at the can, waiting.

I watched, transfixed, as the pristine white lid slowly and silently closed all by itself, as if operating on some invisible hydraulic power.  There was a second of silence as we all absorbed the implications. HANDS FREE GARBAGE. No more juggling dirty plates, cutlery and chicken bones? No more swearing at Oscar while wrestling with the side clamps of a ridiculously squat plastic tub??

Oh my God. I had my credit card out in a New York second.

On the ride home, I started preparing my defence for Yvette.  It came out something like this: Honey, we may not have a big house or a granite kitchen counter, but by God, we will have a state-of-the-art garbage can.

Needless to say, she was not impressed. At first.  But after a week, she too was sold.

Fast-forward 10 years. Our high-tech garbage wonder had started to show signs of aging. Yvette has always taken great pains to be as quiet as a cat-burglar in the mornings, God love her. Yet there was no escaping the creaking of the garbage can lid. It  still opened and shut as slowly as ever, but now it  moaned and groaned like a drunk at 4am.

Determined to get to the bottom of it I Googled around and —amazing!— I was not alone. Others were also experiencing increasingly loud protests from their garbage cans. But there was a solution! Some Helpful Harry out there in internet-land had written up a step-by-step guide to fix the noise.

Inspired and determined, I came home the next day with a can of silicone spray, with the brilliant brand name of Liquid Wrench. Yvette was startled but quite pleased to see me take the initiative in the handy-person department for once. Especially since she is quite squeamish about anything remotely germ- or garbage-related. Having grown up in a Third World country, I have no such issues, and enjoy reminding her of this fact as often as possible.  She generously agreed to hold the flashlight and supervise whilst I deconstructed the beast.

Of course the screws were at the bottom of the can, which meant that I had to assume a yoga position just to reach them. “You’re doing great, hon.” I took a deep yogic breath and inhaled the fragrance of stale veggies. This was not going so well. But  I was up to my armpits, literally, so I pressed on, determined to fix this thing.

We got the first two screws off and gave the main cylinder a squirt of Liquid Wrench. The instructions said something about a little going a long way. Still, it didn’t seem to do anything. So I gave it another squirt, and put it back in place. Yvette reiterated that I was scoring big points in the Handy department.

We stepped on the pedal. It opened with no sound. Hooray! We high-fived each other. A second later, it slammed shut with a loud bang.

Dammit.

So I wiped off the excess silicone. And re-tried it. Same thing. Great. The clang of the slamming was worse than the groaning. Yvette suggested stuffing it with face cleanser pads. Which is not as crazy as it sounds, as they were the perfect size for the cylinder. But… no luck.

So I washed the cylinder with degreaser and tried again. Still no joy. Jesus! I was dreading being stuck with a slamming lid.

But Yvette had been studying the motion of the inner workings with that über-analytical mind of hers. She suggested I put the screws back on. Even though the cylinder appeared to stay put, it was in fact lifting up when it shouldn’t. Duh. Why didn’t I think of that?

So, again, assuming the yogi position —a hybrid of downward dog and cat-cow if you must know— I screwed them back in. I held my breath as Yvette stood on the pedal, and then released it. Up swung the lid, as silent as a ghost, then down it floated, as if on wings, until it closed softly, silent once more.

I swear to God, I heard a choir of frickin’ angels singing.

We hugged each other and I did a little victory dance. Because that’s how good it felt.