Traci is a former Playmate and Baywatch babe. She knows how to use her apparently rigid yet buoyant flotation rack to her best advantage. Not content with dragging the can to the curb in a housecoat or even a pair of sweats, Traci lets it all hang out in the name of good, clean fashion.

Note the rucked-up tank top, and the conspicuous absence of a foundation garment beneath. They're like battering rams, those things. They yearn to be free, yet are cruelly enmeshed in the unforgiving yet sheer fabric. She's wearing the teeniest, tiniest little wool skirt - it must be cold out there, wherever she is. If she's even on the same planet as we are.

She's 40. Her face is tighter than Saran Wrap. Her rack looks stiff enough to pack dirt. But that doesn't keep her from trudging onward, struggling against the balmy California air to get that can, which matches her little outfit so perfectly, out to the street. What. A. Woman. I just have one question: Does she recycle?