“Keep the mouse in the house”. It’s a saying that can make anyone laugh if referring to the embarrassing situation when you just can’t help but notice that a guy’s weiner is in full view when he’s sitting inappropriately with his legs spread. Or when it’s peeking out of his boxer shorts. You try to cover your eyes but you just HAVE to look. Well, I can say for sure that this little saying ONLY applies to penises. And I can say that because I have a mouse in my house and I would prefer to not keep him here.
Yes, last night after both kids were securely in their beds Tim handed me the dog and said, “Hold her. Tight.”. I heard him rummaging around, and then I saw him with his tennis racquet enter the kitchen and start banging around, smacking things around and when I returned I could tell from his face that whatever he was hunting for and hoping to pummel with his racquet was still on the loose.
“What is it.” I stated
“We have a friend” he said.
“What sort of friend?”
“An “M” friend.”
“What, a Moose? A Mongoose? A Muskrat? Could you be a little more specific?”
“A mouse.” he said.
“Did you get it?”
“No, but it ran behind the radiator so it’s gone.”
Yeah right. A mouse running behind anything is not gone.
“Call the exterminator tomorrow” he said and took the dog, put her leash on her and walked out of the house.
He left me. He left me sitting alone on the couch in the room adjacent to the room with the M word. I couldn’t breathe. And I really wanted a Reeses Peanut Butter cup from the freezer. I wanted it badly enough in fact that I got up and STOMPED into the kitchen all confident to get one, and as soon as I reached into the freezer… I saw it. It was absolutely, by no stretch of the imagination behind the radiator. Or behind ANYTHING for that matter. It was scurrying by my feet. I screamed and I’m pretty sure my superpowers took over because I think it only took one leap to get back onto my safe spot on the couch.
10 minutes later Tim returned and he knew from my grimace that Mr. M was back.
“Get it”. I said. “Do something. It ran into the laundry room”.
So again, I heard some banging and moving of furniture and a door close and that was it.
“Did you get it?” I again asked knowing that it was not the case since I didn’t see him holding a dead little thing by its tail.
“No, but I closed the door to the laundry room so when the exterminator comes tomorrow he’ll find it.”
He closed the door. Had he not learned in middle school that mice can flatten themselves completely to get under any door and through any hole a fraction of its size? He closed the door. Hurumph.
“Can you at least put some towels on the bottom of the door so it can’t crawl under?” I asked.
“Fine.” he said knowing in the back of his head that he’d be skipping off to work in the morning leaving me with two unknowing kids and a mouse that might as well be a python considering how scared I was.
And then he went up to bed. And I tweeted my situation so all my “friends” could commiserate and lend me some advice and give me internet hugs and share some tears. And I got an “Ewwww” from one friend and some helpful advice from my sister in law. And that’s it. I guess everyone else was in my husband’s camp… not their problem.
And then I saw it again! Back in the kitchen! How did it DO that?? Pssssssst!! I shouted up to the bedroom so as to not wake the kids. Back downstairs trotted my husband to where I was crouched down pointing under the kitchen curtains. “See it? It’s right there. Get. It.” No luck. Back behind the radiator he went. And back up the stairs my husband went stating that our show was starting in 10 minutes and I should hurry up to join him.
“You don’t care.” I tearfully told him as I crawled shakily into bed after having taken a Zanax to calm my nerves.
“I do care. But what do you want me to do?” he asked?
“I don’t know but your the HUSBAND. You’re supposed to take care of things like this for your WIFE.”.
“And you’re supposed to give back rubs to your husband when he asks and you don’t.” he retorted.
Really? He was comparing mice scampering around my house, possibly crawling on my sleeping kids to BACK RUBS? End of conversation.
So here I am. It’s morning. No sign of Mr. Mouse yet today. No, take that back. There were mouse droppings on my counter and a little hole in my bag of bagels with some bagel actually missing (hungry bastard), so I know he was around. But I haven’t seen him yet. But I open every cabinet like I’m entering a drug den and go around each corner peaking first (which Luke thinks is the best game). And I’m still awaiting a call from the almighty Exterminator who will do nothing but put down poison all over my house and give me another thing for Luke to want to pick up and either eat or throw in the toilet.
So please lend your thoughts to me today. I’ll be chanting to “get the mouse out of the house, get the mouse out of the house”. And if I see a few penises in the process… fine.