Last night I decided to haul my quite cumbersome behind off of the couch and start dinner. The boys were putting the finishing touches on the Father's Day swing Hubster received and had to put together, and I was getting hungry.
The Boy wanted to grill burgers. He's into that ME MAN. GRILL MEAT. stage that all testosterone-bound boy-children go through, so we're happy to let him.
I formed the burgers on the plate for him, then busied myself getting the condiments and other things ready to go with the main dish. I thought it would be nice to have an avocado, so I got one and sliced it in half. I removed the seed, and opened the trash compactor to throw it in.
And let out a blood-curdling scream as I galloped across the kitchen and living room.
Because, my friends, there was a mouse the size of Texas sitting on the edge of the trash compactor basket as it came out to meet me. A live, tail-switching, nose-sniffing, nasty, brown mouse. Just sitting there on the compactor, just as if it owned all the trash inside.
Now, I could understand this if it was the dead of winter. But let's get REAL here, folks. It's 105 degrees in the shade. You can't tell me the mice are coming in to cool off!
And we all know that if there's one mouse, there are more.
So next week I'm moving. The kids and Hubster can stay, but I'm moving. I'm building my own cement box on some land we have at the lake. Once I'm hermetically sealed in I won't be coming out again.
I just hope I get good Internet reception.