(1)Well, I pretty much almost died this morning.
(2)Yeah, remember when I alluded to my
|this is the real bucket, my friends|
(3)(brace yourselves)....a drowned mouse.
You better believe I ran out of there screaming. And immediately called my poor unsuspecting husband. Because that's normal, right? To call your husband while he's working to tell him about something he can't do anything about and probably actually couldn't care less about yet? Good.
(4)So I called him and was all: "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-mouse-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-bucket-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-Imma have a heart attack-hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"
And do you KNOW what he said? Oh my gosh you guys...
"Why don't you just toss it out back in the woods? Something will eat it, I'm sure."
(5)Um, hi. Do a bunch of middle-aged Catholic men who landscape secretly smoke crack at 9 a.m.? Because that is honestly the only explanation I can think of for his completely unreasonable, totally insane suggestion. I mean, did you hear the part about the RODENT?
(6)Now, I don't wanna be one of those helpless women who are helpless and need all sorts of help and can't manage to survive without hyperventilating and demanding help, but sweetbabyjeezus, I simply cannot go back in there. What am I gonna do when the load is finished? If I don't go and turn the water back off, the bucket will overflow and then the ----specimen---- might wash over the edge onto the flooded floor. AND SORRY FOR MAKING YOU BARF JUST NOW. And if I do back in there, I'll die.
(7)So those are pretty much my two options and how I will even continue with this day I do not know.
St. Rodentia, pray for us!