Last week I was looking for something in our storage room – the one that my delightfully OCD husband keeps in tip-top shape. It is not musty, or damp, or basement-y so I feel like it’s ok to go there.
But the other day, as I was looking, I saw, back behind an old dog dish, the outline of something dark and suspicious that I thought could possibly be Something I Do Not Allow.
I don’t do mice. They are banned from my home.
I have averted my eyes so I have never seen a dead mouse and I have only ever seen one live mouse outside.
Ok, once a mouse ran across my shoulders while I was sitting on the couch at my parent’s house, but I didn’t see it, I just felt it – like someone sneaking up behind me and tickling me, only gross and creepy-like.
My mom will freak when she reads this because she is very classy and a meticulous housekeeper. And it’s not considered appropriate or ladylike to have mice run across your guest’s shoulders.
Anyway, I saw The Mouse Shape in the basement and yelled for Protector Husband and made him wait until I fled the premises before he investigated.
Sure enough, it was a dead mouse. BUT, John said it must have been there for over seven years (before we moved in) because it had been caught on a glue strip we had not put there, and must have fallen off a ledge when he was cleaning.
Tada! Not on my watch!
Here’s the thing. It is whispered by realtors in our upscale neighborhoods that this is the dirty little secret.
Everyone has mice.
As much as we want to avert our eyes, we all have mice – stuff that makes us feel afraid, embarrassed, out of control, or less than.
I’m thinking maybe we need Mice Anonymous – a safe place where we can say “Hi, I’m Laura and I have mice.”
And everyone will say “Hi Laura!” and accept me with all my miceyness. They won’t be judgey, but will understand because they have mice too, and they’ll encourage me to take it one day at a time, and be there if I need to call in a lifeline.
Actually, maybe we should do that and just call it “church”.