Congrats. Eight years of marriage, nine moves, two dogs, two big brothers and Aunt Hannah couldn't do what you did --force us to buy a heavy duty trash can.
We've made do with the sturdy Rubbermaid just fine until you came along. Daddy returned from deployment, observed your behavior for a few days and declared: We need to get another trash can, a heavy one, with a lid.
End of story... at least for the Rubbermaid.
Guess Dad didn't like the idea of you pushing it around the room like a shopping cart, or maybe he didn't like you digging around in there for a snack. Could have been the knocking it over, but I'm pretty sure he'd had enough when he saw you eating the trash bag.
I know, you miss the old one. But we wouldn't have bought this one if it hadn't been necessary for your health. By the way, you owe us $68. I'll put it on your tab.