If you can't say something nice, at least make it funny!

Thanks for visiting Tinfoil Magnolia, a blog about my life, times, marriage, friendships and all the strange things that happen to me and with me. I hope you find something here that will encourage you, inspire you or at the least entertain you. And if it doesn't today, check back tomorrow because, my life? honestly...

Tuesday, November 23

On the Next Episode of Cribs

So here's the deal. Hubby and I can be a bit lackadaisical about taking care of things around the house, or more specifically outside the house itself. We are the sort who, when it comes to weekends, are either going full steam and totally booked up (like we were all summer) or we do nothing. at all. We weren't always that way, and I am not sure when or why it changed.

Now, we let things get out of control, I realize that. Our 2 car garage is full of our 3 scooters, lawnmower, tools, furniture for which I have big plans, miscellaneous things like everyone has I guess. Meanwhile our cars both sit in the driveway. So we've made it a custom, a sad sad tradition, that at least 2 times a year, fall and spring, we pull everything out, rearrange, reorganize, trash, donate, etc. anything that has accumulated in the previous months. There is always the futile hope that one car might fit when we're done. But I am sorry to say that almost never happens.

This weekend, with 70 degree days forecast, the day's plan on Saturday was the semi-annual garage purge. It was time. Our garage had begun to take on a strange odor and we just knew that something somewhere had been overlooked or fallen out of the trash and was causing it. We put on our grubbies and begin dragging everything out onto our driveway. This always causes a number of slow drive-bys especially on a Saturday when people are looking for garage sales. I swear, if anyone would just stop to ask, I'd make them a deal.... but I digress.

About half way through the ousting, with a large pile of "throw away" stuff already collected, I was cleaning off a shelf on which we had stored items for painting. I looked, and took a double look. "Please tell me this isn't what I think it is." I said wearily to hubby. Yep, he confirmed it was mouse droppings. And they were everywhere. I was outraged until I noticed the attraction for the mice. A couple of months ago I had spilled a bag of birdseed while trying to get to some flower pots stored in a cabinet. The birdseed was everywhere, I didn't take time to clean it up, and now the mice were enjoying a regular feast in our garage. And, to their benefit, it was warm and dry and had boxes of clothing left over from my October yard sale.

I wasn't even thinking by not cleaning it up I was inviting rodents in. "Oh, my gosh. Now what do we do? We have mice? How do we get rid of them? Poison? Mouse traps? What? What do we do? Awww gross! They have been everywhere!!!!" I was in full blown panic mode. Furious. Outraged at these rabies infested rodents. They must die!!!

"Yes, poison. Yes, traps. We'll pick some up today." Hubby, being a country boy, reassured me calmly. "Right now we need to get all this cleaned out, this corner is disgusting."

And so we begin pulling everything out of the front corner and then I realize that everything on the shelves needs to go or be cleaned. So I start with the bottom shelf. Two old pair of shoes left out from the yard sale. I pick them up and toss them out on the driveway. Suddenly I see it. Three dark spots had fallen from the shoes on to the pavement. I shrieked. And ran. (Ran? Why, they weren't chasing me...) "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!! omygodomygodomygod.....what the??????"

Hubby says  "What?"in that "what now?" tone, looking over his shoulder. His patience with my mouse a phobia was wearing thin. I was standing there like a 2 year old doing the pee pee dance, one gloved hand pointing to the shoes on the cement garage floor. All I could say way "ogodogodogod" **shudder** "ogodogodogod" **shudder**, periodically turning my head away and then back again blocking my view with my hands.

It seems that one mother mousey had decided that an old shoe was a great place to raise a family, and I had dislodged three very small baby mice from the crib. (get it, crib?) Ya'll they were so little. Babies, their eyes weren't even open. They were all squirming around and one was on his back with his little mousey paws flailing up in the air. I just couldn't look at them. And I couldn't not look at them.

Hubby "Well, there's probably more in there" he said, banging the suspect shoe on the ground and yielding both another mousketeer and another yelp from me. By this time I am creeped out beyond belief, literally hopping up and down at the thought of those critters running up my pantleg or something. "omgodomgodomgod" I start saying again. "WHAT ARE WE GONNA DOOOOOOO??????" I say in a whiny, crybaby voice that surprised even me.

"Put them in the trash can" says my no-nonsense farm-raised husband, as he reaches for one.

"THE TRASH CAN!!?????????" I screech, "BUT YOU'LL KILLLLLL THEEEMMMMMMMM!"

"OH. MY. GOD.  You were just talking about putting out a trap to kill them, what is the difference?"

"But they're baaaabeeeees.....they'll dieeeeeee." I whined, being true to my emotional, bleeding heart liberal, Bambi loving, animals have feelings too, live and let live, hippie chick inner child.

"WHAT do you want me to do?" asks hubby, torn between being true to his sensible, pragmatic self and indulging my ridiculous notion of the value of the life of a baby mouse over a full grown mouse.

I just waved my hands in front of my face and ran into the house at top speed. I didn't want to know. I didn't want to decide. I didn't want to hear about their fate. He could do whatever. I just hated to see them lying there squirming.

After 30 minutes of freaking out inside the house, I finally got up the courage to go out and pitch in with finishing up the garage. I couldn't resist. "Are they gone?"(quietly) "Yes" "What did you do?"(hesitantly) "Let them loose in the yard." "They'll die out there!!!!"(whining) "Yeah, or be food for a bird or another animal."(matter of factly) "Oh, good, I hope that happens."(relief)
**eye roll** from the hubby.

Ya'll? Why does he put up with me? Honestly...

9 comments:

  1. I'm just quite fond of you. Can't help it....

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  2. Sell the house...it is your only option!

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  3. You should title your next novel Of Mice And Mitch

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  4. LOL Ya'll are hilarious! Lori, I am with you, I think we have to move now. I can't walk past that corner without thinking about them.

    Cake, I love the title, maybe that can be the title of my memoir!

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  5. Wanna borrow my cat?

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  6. Freda, the sad thing is? WE HAVE A CAT!!!!!!! She has always been indoors and is completely USELESS!!!! Obviously. In fact, the last couple months she's gone out to use the litter box and comes speeding back in as fast as she can go. I think the MICE were scaring HER!

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