When we moved into our trailer on January 3rd, we quickly realized that it hadn’t been wholly unoccupied in our absence. Mice, the scourge of the earth, had infiltrated our kitchen. As though trespassing isn’t a serious enough offense, they also had the audacity to nibble on our bag of bread flour. Being a person who believes in balancing mercy and justice, I took the mice to an unbiased family court judge. Judge Aaron deliberated the case long and hard for approximately 14 seconds before coming to a decision. Their sentence: death.
You might be a trailer house wife if the most exciting thing that happened to you last month was finding a dead mouse under your kitchen sink.
I hope that this doesn’t lead to a default topic of “you might be a trailer house wife if…” jokes.
For those of you who might think mice are cute, fluffy and more deserving of mercy than that, come sit in the drawer with my kitchen towels for a night. When you come out covered in tiny droppings with your t-shirt shredded by miniature claws, you’ll change your mind. If you like, I’ll put you and the kitchen towels through the washer with some disinfectant. If you stay there for the entire night, I’ll even get you a new t-shirt.
Justice was served. We set a few traps and caught a few mice. All of our appliances were unceremoniously yanked away from the walls, and anything that even resembled a hole promptly got crammed full of steel wool. Our walls have fuzzy gray stuff sticking out of them in odd places, but there have been no rodent sightings in the past week. We think we might have beaten them.
Just in case, we keep a trap set by the garbage can. A good trailer house wife never lets her guard down.
No comments:
Post a Comment