With the dead kangaroo properly handled, it was time to turn to the accumulation of hazardous chemicals that had built up in the household, chemicals that had been left unattended to given the exigencies.
There was 10 year old paint, dried-up tubes of caulking, half-filled canisters of things like Brasso and Raid that I will never use.
And a large collection of partially used red hair colouring. Which was, well, not easy to dispose of.
But even if there was a market for free half-used multi-faceted shimmering red hair colouring, I wasn’t eager to populate the city with people wearing Catherine’s shade.
I toyed with the idea of colouring my hair, but realized that clearly fell under the “don’t do anything rash” lesson we learned in grieving class this week.
So off it went.