Of Mice and Women

Okay so here's the craziest day that's quite possibly ever happened--to me anyway. This afternoon while deciding whether or not I'd actually make it to the gym (of course I did), I heard some icky scratching sounds under my husbands armoir (icky is not typical to my vocab so just go with me here). Within maybe two seconds a gray, slightly (okay very) frightened mouse came running out, right into my foot. Of course since it was a lovely 72 degrees (that's fahrenheit, to all you Canucks), I was wearing sandals--ya know the kind with no toe protection from diseased rodents scrambling through one's house. Of course I screamed like a sissy and called my poor, over-worked husband, as if he'd be able to do something then and there. He told me to lock our mouse-killing cat (14 mice killed and brought into our house in 3 weeks time), into the bedroom. He also told me to shove a towel under the doorway so said mouse could not make him (or her) self more comfortable in our lovely home. The only "towel" I could find on short notice (had the get the kids from preschool/mom's day out), was my housecoat. Not a bathrobe--it has a zipper and goes from chin to ankles, thus defining it as a housecoat--ask my neighbors if you don't believe me, they've seen it as I played in the snow or collected the mail. Okay back to the story. After collecting my kids and discussing said situation with Kim--Hey two posts already, must be a good friend--and Steve (husband extrordinaire), I couldn't find the mouse (maybe he needs a name, how about Frances), and just knew he had not been offed by Scout the mouse-killer. However, I knew Frances was still around because, like nearly all women, she was just a little too vocal. Then she made a fatal error by showing her fuzzy little self once again. Screaming and door-slamming ensued, which is when I noticed mousy-movement underneat my bathrobe. That little sucker was trying to escape! Kim told me to stomp Frances with my shoe, but I just couldn't, hey we'd become friends and besides who wants mouse guts inside their housecoat?! So I did the next best thing, I sent my four year old son to get the broom, all the while keeping the mouse from escaping back into my bedroom. My wonderful son looked for several minutes for his "little boy broom", before I finally got him to get my "Mommy broom". Hey, don't laugh, he was sharing which in and of itself is a completely different post! After much encouragement I started smashing the mouse with the broom to which Kim replied "I'm about to hear mousy murder". Not to worry Kim, the mouse had escaped, which I found out only after my kids were sent the garage--hey no one wants their children trampled by a wild animal--or mommy, and timidly picked up and thoroughly searched the crumpled housecoat (maybe it needs a name, too. What about Gracie?). By now ever sound caused my heart to jump and my desire to pee that much greater. A minute or so later I noticed movement underneath a package of felt squares (why they're called squares I don't know, since they're 8 1/2" x 11") which my mother-in-law bought for the kids' for crafts. I just started smashing with the broom, and of course the movement stopped. I felt relieved and still a bit on the apprehensive side, so I moved those "squares" ever so slowly and darn it all if that mouse wasn't still alive (I swear I hear "I will survive" set as background music)!! So what did this gym-bunny do but smash Frances to kingdom come with a full water bottle! No lie, I have the pictures to prove it! I've never once killed anyting intentionally (okay, anything furry or with the potential to be cute), and beyond the post-adrenalin nausea I felt much better. Though I've been traumatized and may need some serious counseling.

Okay, so then later on (oh come on, you've read this far why not continue?) while eating at Zaxby's my friend Diana set lovely, green purse in a puddle of some sort. She was a little sad since it soaked well into the leather. About two seconds later I picked up my daughter (did I mention we're potty training?), for a peepee break when a gush of fluid surged off of her chair similar to niagara falls and onto the spot where Diana's purse had been. No, Diana is not bringing sticky, soda purse to Disney World tomorrow, shes' bringing my precious daughter's urine!

Okay, I'll post a dead mouse picture when I figure out how to download them to my computer--hey that might be tomorrow so ya better check back!