Tuesday, November 16, 2010

I Am a Murderer of Love

Well, if you love mice.


Haha j/k, j/k everybody. MAN I kill me. Also mice. 

(This is where I'd really, really like to end this post, but Gary says people will stop reading my blog if I continue to use my "special" sense of humor. I just thought you should all know that there are times at which elaborating goes against every fiber of my being, and this is one of those times.)

So Gary and I were sitting on the couch, quietly discussing religion and politics when the air was rent with a piercing gasp. (Mine.) I saw a tiny gray animal flit out of my bedroom and behind Gary's toolbox.

Gary, being the man that he is, got up and spent the next twenty or so minutes searching for the beast. I spent those minutes cowering on the couch, too afraid to let my feet touch the floor lest they be tread on by four tiny, scurrying paws. His search was fruitless, and I had chicken cooking on the stove, so eventually I did have to get up and brave the carpet, but not without the reassurance of carrying an aluminum baseball bat. Sure, it made it a little harder to make dinner, but it made me feel better and that's all that matters.

My fearless protector had to run an errand after that, meaning I was left to fend for myself. He was just supposed to be dropping something off a few blocks away, so after half an hour had passed, I started to worry that something might be wrong. I did not call him freaking out, because I want him to keep loving me. My patience paid off, though, because a few minutes later he arrived home with a large gray grocery bag in his hand...and it was full of mouse traps. My hero.

He sat at the kitchen table and assembled the traps, cursing ever so slightly when one of them snapped closed on his finger, and within a few minutes our house was fully armed and dangerous. Just knowing the traps were set sent a feeling of security and peace washing over me...that is, until about five minutes later, when I heard a sickening SNAP!

I didn't have the stomach to look for myself, but Gary confirmed that we had caught and brought our first victim to justice. My conscience squirmed uncomfortably as he disposed of the broken carcass, but in the end I think we did the right thing. That mouse was clearly breaking and entering...the punishment for which is death. In our house, anyway.

This morning Gary left for Minneapolis for work. It did not occur to me before we set the traps that I would be alone in the house with several deadly killing machines for three days, but I suppose now it's too late. I just hope Gary doesn't expect me to respond to any loud snapping noises I might hear while he's gone, because thanks to the hot pink earplugs I invested in this morning, I don't plan on hearing any.

Also I'd like to apologize in advance for not answering any phone calls for the next three days.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Very good post..