<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/"><channel><title>Emma on Gromet's Plaza Archive</title><link>/authors/emma/</link><description>Recent content in Emma on Gromet's Plaza Archive</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-us</language><lastBuildDate>Fri, 14 Jun 2013 00:00:00 +0000</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="/authors/emma/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>My Garbage. Contents: You</title><link>/stories/2013/06/14/my-garbage.-contents-you/</link><pubDate>Fri, 14 Jun 2013 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2013/06/14/my-garbage.-contents-you/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;Mmm, a little downer can worm its way into any mood, right? I mean I shouldn&amp;rsquo;t complain - I&amp;rsquo;ve just been promoted, I&amp;rsquo;ve got the rest of today off, and I didn&amp;rsquo;t hit a single red light on the way home&amp;hellip; yet now I remember that this week&amp;rsquo;s and last week&amp;rsquo;s trash has gotta be hauled out for tomorrow. As I park up and take the white and brown papers from the mailbox at the end of the driveway I contemplate on my current lack of a big strong boyfriend. My last one had no problems with these sorts of yucky man-tasks, so long as he was reminded of them. Oh well. My key twists in the front door lock as I consider hiring a cleaner. Could I get away with paying some loser minimum wage for cleaning my house? It&amp;rsquo;s only small&amp;hellip;&lt;/p&gt;</description></item></channel></rss>