People, I have a problem.
A real problem.
There is a mouse in my house.
Now I know you are all thinking this is NO BIG DEAL. That I live out in the sticks and this is just a way of life in Hooterville.
But that’s where you’re all wrong.
I have deep psychological issues people.
When I was just a kid, my mother spotted a mouse sitting on the back of the coach and decided to take the broom and whack the crap out of it. Well, that would have been a GREAT idea had I known what the crap was going on. So one minute I’m sitting there eating my Cheez Whiz and Doritos and the next I am being attacked with a broom by my mother and a mouse is flying through the air.
It scared me. I mean, to this day, I can not eat Cheez Whiz without breakin’ out in a cold sweat.
Fast forward several years, I’m 24 and having to stay alone in my house. It’s late…dark…quiet. All of the sudden, I could hear the little suckers scratchin’ in my kitchen…looking for my Doritos, no doubt. I would get up and beat around and then they would stop…but then start again…louder and louder. I just knew one of them was gonna get in my bed.
So, I did the most rational thing I could think of….I slept in my car for two days until the sucker was caught.
Tonight I am here with Ella. Rico has left to go coon hunting. He has left me all alone in this house with a freaking mouse so he can go watch a bunch of dogs chase raccoons up a tree.
What he should really be doing is hunting down that mouse in this three story house so I don’t pack up his daughter and sleep in the SUV.