Recycling

My wife held in her hand a broken light bulb. "What do I do with this?" she asked.
"Throw it out," I said.
"Where? In what container? Black bin, green bin or green bag?"
I pondered a while then said, as if a light bulb had come on in my head, "Electrics!"
"So?"
"It's electrical," I said. "So it goes with electrical material."
"And where is 'electrical material'? Black bin, green bin or green bag."
"None of them," I said.
"So what do I do with it?"
"Mmmm," I said unhelpfully. Then the light bulb in my head shone brightly again. "Down the dump."
She went to put her hands to her hips to emphasise what she was going to say but the bulb she had in her hand made her think twice about it.
"I know what you're going to say," I said. I can read her like a book after n years of marriage (I've put 'n' because I'm not sure of the right number). "You're going to say: 'Do we (i.e. me) have to go all the way to the dump for us to get rid of this light bulb?' Am I right?"
She nodded.
I took the light bulb from her and placed it on a shelf in the porch.
This conversation occurred some months ago; the light bulb is still there on the shelf. I'm getting fond of it; between a small cactus and a cardboard box that has something in it (can't remember what) it looks rather nice - artistic, Damien Hurst-ish.