Trash

The thing is, people riffle through our trash. Once a week, usually the evening before trash day, one or more persons will pull mishmash out of the bins, looking for the "good stuff". Now, the "good stuff" can be any number of things, and ultimately is dependent on the looter of the week. It varies from bottles and cans, to food leftovers, to even magazines or catalogues. I am accustomed to returning home from a long night, in the darkest of darks, to perilously climb up the steps over polka dots of trash.
However, last week I came home in the early evening and was astonished into out loud laughter to find a pregnancy test on the stairs. I stood there, with this look of incredulity splashed with upraised eyebrows of curiosity with just a tinge, yes, of schadenfreude, and I didn't know what to do. Apparently it had been out in the sun for some time, and the telltale dashes or pluses or colors were no longer visible. Though I suppose without the appropriate instruction pamphlet I probably would not have been able to interpret it anyway. I looked up for some answers. Not up to Heaven, but up to the top apartment where a gaggle of twenty something girls live. Immediately my mind started racing with the possible outcomes.
For instance, what if I was a boyfriend and I saw the scarlet stick on my way to my lady friend's abode? Should I confront her? Wait for her to broach the heaviest of subjects? Should I eat the takeout and nonchalantly bring up birth control? Or maybe I could be a new love, someone she met online just a few weeks prior, and I have seen the evidence but she is being mum and I am too chicken to bring it up. Bringing it up means facing the colored dashes and really we just winked at each other less than a month ago. Or maybe I am a mom, surprise visiting her daughter, and even though I want to be a grandmother, these are not the circumstances I wanted. But I don't want to be judgmental; I am always judgmental. Of course, if I was a mom, I may be more inclined to at least dispose of the thing.
But I am not any of these people, and I am not keen on picking up trash that has been doused with a stranger's bodily fluids, so I leave it. Later that night I ask my flatmate if she perhaps dropped something earlier in the day, but she hadn't. We had a good laugh about the random pregnancy test outside our porch, and swapped a few "what if's", then sobered up at the thought of repercussions. It isn't really a laughing matter, after all.