I don't think I can justly articulate my all-consuming fear and loathing of tiny furry creatures, mice and rats in particular. Those tiny bug-eyed vermin strike terror in my soul, and so it went yesterday when I opened the cabinet beneath the kitchen sink to find three errant poops.
J was in the living room cleaning in preparation for his parents' arrival. I beckoned him wordlessly into the kitchen.
That MFer wasn't even surprised, you guys. Yeah, he said. I thought I saw some last week.
So he set the traps we keep in the cupboard (we've had a mice or two before, well in the past), and I shook my head at the universe. I mean, that is one straight-up fucking genius way to keep my ample ass out of the kitchen.
Around 8 last night, H feel asleep on my lap and J meandered into the kitchen. And he didn't return for a few minutes. When I crept towards the room he smiled guility.
What? he asked, grinning.
This morning, H was up bright and early, and he went downstairs with dad as I was throwing on my sweats.
You stay here, I heard J say to him. Daddy has to take care of something.
And so we wait. In the meantime, I have this handy post-it placed strategically in front of the sink.
As in, remember not to open this door lest you see horror beyond your comprehension that haunts you for all eternity.