I have phobias. Phobias about dead things. Phobias about rodents. Put the two together and it’s the very reason Clonapin was created.
My husband left for work this morning and I started to clean. I stripped the sofa, so that the slip covers can be pristine before we leave for our trip.
Sophie likes to wipe her ketchup fingers and yogurt hands on the arm rest on her side.
The left side.
Grace uses napkins.
I shouldn’t let the kids eat in the family room or in front of the t.v., but I do.
My punishment is slip cover stripping.
As I made my way down, pulling the sides off of the furniture, there it was….
A dead mouse.
A dead mouse in my house.
Brian was almost to work and so I stood in the yard with my telephone in hand looking at the neighbor’s opened garage doors and wondering if I should go and get Mr. Tom.
But I’m not wearing a bra, I thought. I’m wearing a really ugly Cisco t-shirt that Brian brought home from work and I haven’t brushed my teeth.
Do I shower and get myself dressed so that I can go and ask Mr. Tom to come and rescue me?
And Sophie is naked. And both girls think it’s cute.
They think the mouse is cute and are making little mousey sounds.
They think I am really funny.
They tell me to be brave.
That I can do it.
And with no other I choice, I was and I did.
I didn’t get Mr. Tom.
Instead, I got a stack of paper and tore the handles off a brown paper bag.
I put on gloves and scooped the dead thing into the paper bag.
I crumbled the bag closed after tossing in the paper and the gloves.
I threw it over the side of the porch into the garbage can below whose top is lifted by an attached rope.
And now it will sit there until garbage pick up arrives tomorrow morning.
I didn’t need a Clonapin, I am happy to say.
But I’m shaken and can’t do much else right now except write about it because…
By the way, I was on the telephone with Peachie throughout the ordeal. I asked her why I am so bad at dead things. I cried about it for a second.
“It’s nature,” she said.
“You can do this,” she told me.
“Let the girls see that you can do this.”
I did it. Okay?
I’m not happy about it, but I did it.
And I feel better now.
Typing made it better.
The slip covers are waiting…