This morning I decided to take care of a laundry basket of "stuff" that we had put to the side. It was a random collection of odds and ends that included a bag of first-aid materials, a mini chandelier that we had intended to install ages ago, some pens, iPod chargers and - when I lifted the chandelier - discovered this as among the stuff as well:
My heart sank and my bile rose. It appeared that Mickey was back and more fibre-loaded than ever.
If you've read my blog for a while, you'll recall that we had "issues" a couple years ago with a mouse and its baby. Barftastic issues. And now, despite the fact that I had been upkeeping the cleanliness of my home to freakish-for-me standards thanks to the 50s Housewife Experiment, it appeared that our problem was back.
Mouse droppings can impact your health, so I took no chances: I donned a little face mask, strapped on the rubber gloves and - instead of going for my usual pansy-ass green cleaning products - I took out The Deadly Stuff. Sorry, environment, but I have shit to deal with.
So, as I'm cleaning and grossing myself out (Random Jen Fact: I have a very active gag reflex), I'm looking at the non-poop contents of the basket to determine if I can can clean them or should just chuck them. And then I notice something. I feel relieved and idiotic at the same time (the perfect combination for a blog post). Behold:
Here I was dressed like one of those guys who experimented on E.T., spraying harsh chemicals around, gagging away - all because of a spilled packet of chive seeds.
Let this be a lesson to anyone who takes me seriously: I am absurdity incarnate.