Believe you can and you're halfway there.
Today while complaining about fruit flies, a friend told me his theory of why there is a "fruit fly season", something to do with the weather turning colder and the warm air inside....
Don't worry, this entry is not about fruit flies... I am far to riled up about them to make a short yet slightly witty entry about them...
But he did remind me of what I was doing this time two years ago, as the weather started to change and the inside become much cosier than the wild out-of-doors.
That wild started coming in to enjoy our more temperate climate.
They were not welcome.
These uninvited guests I'm talking about are most popularly known as Mickey and Minnie.
As someone who has grown up in the country, I am more likely to call them plain old rodents.
The first sign of them came unexpectedly, as I thought I saw one out of the corner of my eye... not wanting to be a wimp in in front my my then-new boyfriend I quickly convinced myself it was a trick of the light and I was over reacting.
The second sign of them could not be ignored... I saw it full tilt run from behind the dryer and under our washer.
There was no more "not wanting to be a wimp".
I had a full on little girl freak-out jumping up and down running up the stairs and pretty much screaming indecipherable things.
My cool girl cover was blown
(Who the f cares!!! We were living with a mouse!)
And you know what they say, when you see one, there are usually ten more that you don't see.
People who say that probably have not got mice in their houses. If they did they would realize that not only is that little quip not comforting, it's down right insomnia inducing.
So after I calmed down and starting speaking English again (as opposed to "ohhhmyyygawdit'saMOUSEisawitISAWITFORREALIT'STHERE!!!!!!) My shell shocked new boyfriend went about the manly task of setting traps.
And every day he also did the manly thing of checking the traps, and I did the girlie part of stuffing every nook and cranny I could find with steel wool.
This was a system of gender separation I was quite comfortable.
The 50's didn't have it all wrong you know. There are plenty of times I would much rather be in charge of having a cocktail at the ready when he walks through the door after a long day of doing things that I just feel I shouldn't have to do. ( i.e. take out the garbage, mow with a push mower, remove spiders, open jars, etc.)
And then came his annual conference. Which meant he was to be gone for three days.
Which also meant if something was caught in a trap I would have to take care of it, or live with a dead decomposing carcass for three days.
The adult, mature, rational, option is to "take care of it", the little squirmy girlie girl option isn't so obvious.
He checked the traps that morning before he left- all clear. He kissed me good bye and said he though maybe we had caught them all anyway.
5:45 am I heard his truck drive out of the driveway.
5:47 am I heard the undeniable snap of a trap going off in the basement.
The smart thing to do would have been to call him and make him come back. Two years later that is exactly what I would do. Fresh-relationship-girl decided she would tough it out on her own.
All I had to do was go down, remover the offending vermin, reset the trap and life would be fine.
I got up my nerve and put on my best brave face and went into the basement.....I could do this.... "I think i can, I think I can, I am the jedi master of oohhhhhhhh gawdammit there it is!!!!! eeeeeewwwwwwwwww I am NOT TOUCHING THAT!!"
Plan B... i found a broom.... with the broom I successfully managed to push the stupid thing around for about ten minutes....
Now not only did I have to deal with the deceased before breakfast, but at this rate I was going to be unbelievably late for work.
Plan C... I found my emergency snow shovel from the car, and swept the mouse and trap onto it.
Now what the hell do I do?? Why are all of may plans only one sentence long!!!???
I maneuvered the expired rodent, still attached to it's device of demise upstairs, through the kitchen and out the door, like a cocktail waitress from a five star resort, holding a nuclear bomb.
(I should mention that by this point I had considered calling my father about three times, but didn't, since he lived a half hour away, and I also considered calling Eric since he lived closer, but knew I would never live down the shame of it.)
I brought it to the edge of the yard and realized I now had to actually get the thing OUT of the trap in order to dispose of it.
I was starting to wish I had gloves. Actually i was starting to wish I had never decided to be a "big girl" and take care of it myself in the first place.
But I knew it had to be taken care of, and that I had to save the trap and remove the mouse.
As I inspected it closer, trying to find the easiest was to pry it open I caught a glimpse of something orange.
And my only thought was "screw this"
With that I took the shovel and hurled it as far as I could into the woods... cheap damn trap and all.
The moral of this story?
"No matter how far you've gone on the wrong road, turn back"
4 years ago