Holy Fuck I just saw a mouse.
IN MY HOUSE.
In the kitchen.
Of all places. The kitchen.
I yelled “O. M. G.” and then it ran under the stove.
Brad Pitt said “What?”
I said “There is a mouse!”
Brad Pitt said “Are you sure???”
I said “Yes. I’m positive! I saw him in my peripherals as he walked across the kitchen floor. When he got in front of the stove, he stopped and looked at me. Then I yelled O M G and he ran under the stove.”
Brad Pitt said “I knew it. I thought I saw something the other night.”
We both want to know: Why in the hell haven’t the dogs told us about this mouse!?!?!?!?
Brad Pitt is on his hands and knees with a flashlight looking under the stove. Informing me that there is a GAP IN THE BASEBOARD BEHIND THE STOVE that leads to a CABINET WHERE I STORE PLATES AND SUCH.
I’m totally grossed out.
He just found an orange Jolly Rancher in the lazy susan cabinet. I’ve never bought orange Jolly Ranchers. Ever. And definitely not in the last six years we’ve owned our house. Gross. But not as gross as a rodent dropping tiny shit chips in my kitchen.
Brad Pitt is still on the ground searching. “I don’t see him now.”
“Yeah, duh! Because you are moving around with a flash light. He is hiding.”
I’ve decided I am not cooking tonight. Who knows where that mouse has been and what his tiny little feet and teeth (and poop!) have touched.
Brad Pitt just told me mice can climb. That the mouse has probably been up on the dining room table. GROSS. Now I’m worried about going to bed. But maybe they can’t climb. People on tv always jump on chairs to get away from mice, right? Maybe they can’t climb. Oh my God. If they can climb, please do not tell me.
Brad Pitt just handed over the flashlight and told me I’m on mouse patrol now and instructed me to yell CHEESE! when I see it.I’m instructing him to go to the store and buy traps. Gross. Gross. Gross.
Brad Pitt just screamed. The new dog snuck up on him and he thought it was the mouse. I’m laughing pretty hard now. That almost makes it worth it to have a mouse in the house.