So, I’d totally forgotten that 8 years ago, the last time we had a rodent invasion, was when the rental property next door was vacant for a while and then the tenants moved in and forced the “squatters” to flee. Well, it happened again and I totally grossed out. After a week of trying to telepathically send the mice messages to just leave, well, it didn’t work and there was too much mouse mess for me to handle so I went nuclear.
Last Saturday was ‘rodent eradication’ morning and I was taking care of it. I wasn’t going to bother David because he had had a long and stressful week. Besides, I’ve been handling the housework for a couple years now just fine.
Well, of course all I can think of as I’m vacuuming is that I’m grinding the crap (not cute poop, crap) into a fine aerosol and blowing it all over my house, below that is sticky tinkle and I’m mashing it into the grooves of the wood floor, that because of this I’ll never be able to get the grossness off of everything, that I’m sweating so it must be sticking to me and I’m breathing so it’s in my lungs…. Nothing like a good neurotic walk down overreaction lane to make your morning fun! Otherwise I was handling it great.
And then the vacuum stopped sucking….
I’m a grown up so I begin to take the vacuum apart to try and fix it but I can’t stop thinking, and then I start crying and then I’m crying and sweating harder and mad. David comes down stairs and has no idea what’s going on because I’m being a ‘good wife’, but he sees me crying and the vacuum and bless his heart, he says, “Honey, if you don’t like vacuuming you should have TOLD me!!!!”
After my 30 minute shower I explained what was up and together we threw the vacuum away.
And we lived happily ever after.
The end :)