It’s a Monday. I stand at the kitchen sink, and wash and dry the lid, which is from a tin of mackerel. It’s a thin piece of rectangular metal, that has a slight curve, and a ring pull attached on one end. One side of the lid is dull, and the other side is brushed and shiny.
I open the cupboard below the sink and feel my way to a plastic bucket that is hidden behind the trash can. I take the bucket out the cupboard, and shake it to create room. I drop the lid into it. It clanks as it hits the other lids. I’m not sure how many are in it now.
I started saving them out of curiosity. My wife casually asked me one day at lunch to estimate how many tins of mackerel I think I eat in a year. The question stuck with me, and needled. So, I devised this method to keep track of my annual consumption.
I shake the bucket again, and place it back behind the trash can. I notice that I have a small cut on my thumb. It’s from the sharp edge of the lid. It’s not the first time it's happened. I plan to start keeping track of this. I walk to the bathroom to get a plaster.