M-I-C… K-E-Y…

Want to see if you can guess my least favorite thing? Okay, I'll give you a minute to think. (Just know that in my head, the music from Jeopardy is playing...) Time's up. My leastest, most very leastest favorite thing is... going to start a load of wash and finding... a live MOUSE in my washing machine! See! I told you! Admit it. Now it's your least favorite thing, too, even though this has never actually happened to you. I'll bet you think I'm making this up. I guaran-double dog-tee you that in my most horrific imaginings I could not make such a thing up. Seriously. And, worst of all, that is exactly what happened to me 5 minutes ago when I innocently opened the lid of my washing machine to start another chapter in the endless saga that is Dirty Laundry around here. Yes, indeed. There was a little mouse staring up at me, unaware that it barely escaped having 20 pounds of smelly-boys-playing-outside-all-weekend socks and jeans and underwear dropped on its unexpecting fuzzy little head. I will admit that the shock of it was not nearly as cardiac arrest-inducing as it was the first time this happened, but still, it's not good. I don't enjoy it. Especially when the rodent in question has not yet given up hope of escape from its prison and is hopping with all its might, trying to scale the walls. Try having that greet you some morning before you've even had a cup of coffee. Trust me. Your adrenaline will spike so high that you'll never need caffeine again. The worst part of it, though, is that there is nothing at all that I can do about the porblem. Okay, read that: nothing I'm willing to do. My farm girl persona does have its limits, past which I revert to girly-girl. A mouse in the washing machine is way, way past my farm girl limits. So, not only can I not do my laundry (do you hear me crying over that?), but all day long today I will have to think about a poor little critter, scared out of its mind, trying to escape from its trap. Not knowing, as I do, that certain doom awaits it when Mark gets home. Don't ask what happens when Mark gets home. I promise, you do not want to know.

1 comment:

  1. Hey Farm Girl. You big wussie baby. Mice are cute and cuddly. Now SPIDERS (shudder) are a completely different story.

    You have to be signed in on your own blog to have your blog address/name come up as the default. Directly under this little box in which I am currently typing, it says, "Comment as: {Select profile . . . .}". If you're signed in, Glory Bee Farm will automatically be in the box.
    See ya. That's enough IT stuff for me today.


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