I think I am pretty rugged as gals go. I'm okay with a house temperature of 63 degrees or less. We haven't had a working master bathroom since Thanksgiving, and I haven't complained (incidentally, it is about done and it looks awesome!). I'm game for camping in my third trimester of pregnancy.
But I HATE mice. (Just writing that sentence sent a shiver down my spine.) There is nothing like a mouse to bring out my inner princess.
Of course we will forever battle mice at our 200 year old house. It's not surprising to see mouse droppings. It's a give-and-take guerrilla war that we're a part of. Yes, it's gross. Yes, we do our best. But we're disabled by the fact that we have a dog and a small child, so poison is out of the question.
But today, the mouse issue entered a new level: I opened the dishwasher to find one running around the bottom of the dirty dishes. Ahhhhh!!!!!!!
A mouse in the dishwasher????? That is just not right. I can't comprehend how, or why, but it has got to stop.
I affectionately am naming this mouse Earl, in honor of the Dixie Chick's song Goodbye Earl that concludes "Earl had to die."
