My boyfriend's bin is one of those Ikea generation, "designed-for-the-office-but-its-cool-cause-I-have-a-city-apartment" bins. You know the ones. They're fine for surrounding with scrunched up balls of paper at the end of a montage to suggest that you've been struggling to write something, but beyond that they're useless.
The fact is, they aren't bins at all. They're waste paper baskets. Designed for the office because in the office, the majority of waste will be paper.
Darling, I want to tidy the place up while you're out, but there's rice on the work surface and it will just go through all the little holes in your contextually challenged waste paper basket.
At this I retire to your bed. xoo