Eewwwwwww!

I am a pretty brave woman. It generally takes a lot to rattle me. I can handle most "icky" cleaning jobs or parenting issues. In particular, there is no bodily fluid which grosses me out too much. I can handle any sickness, oozing infection, or revolting mess without gagging or passing out.

I have found my nemesis, and it is called . . . . . dead mouse.

We returned from Utah late Sunday night, and I noticed a gamey smell throughout the house. The house had been left clean and all the garbage had been taken out, so that was strange. For the next few days I unpacked, cleaned, and looked for the source of the smell, which had the distinct odor of death. This morning I sniffed deeply and repeatedly in the laundry room, which was clearly the epicenter of the smell. Suddenly, I saw it. A tail sticking up out of the drain of the utility sink. Flies feasting on a rotting mouse who had caught its head in the drain.

This is what I did . . . . . SCREAMED, jumped up and down in a really wacky hyperventilation dance, and yelled, "eeewwwww" while fighting back severe nausea. There was no way, NO WAY, I was going to touch that thing, but I wanted it removed from the sink. I have never seen a mouse in my house, alive or dead. I hope I never do again.

What did I do? First I found a bowl to carefully drop over the drain to trap the offending, disgusting rodent and its attendant flies. This was in hopes of trapping some of the nauseating smell. Then, I shut the door to the laundry room, turned on the exhaust fan, and shivered every time I thought about what was behind the closed door. I seriously could not think about going any closer again.

Dan is out of town in NYC, so I couldn't call on him for help in this regard. I mean, it sounds terribly sexist, but this is definitely something a man has to deal with. Mostly because I can't deal with it and I am a woman, so it must be a man thing to do, right? (There are a few other tasks which I firmly believe belong to men: killing spiders that are hairy or larger than a quarter and plunging a plugged toilet. Anything else, I will gladly handle.)

Joseph's 5 year old friend (over for a playdate) offered to retrieve the mouse for me, but I couldn't bring myself to allow him to corrupt his innocence. Later on, the dad of Joseph's friend (and a good friend of ours) saved the day. He donned two sets of gloves and armed himself with plastic bags, removed the mouse, and took it to the outside garbage. Whew. I might be able to sleep tonight. That is, as soon as I set mousetraps to catch any friends of the disgusting rodent who might still be hiding out in our house. I say it again . . . . .eeeewwwwwww!