|When is a sock not a sock?||1/25/2006|
When it's a latrine for the MICE THAT HAVE MOVED INTO THE GARAGE!!!!!
I went into the garage last night, and noticed that Kelly had left her favourite red pom-pom socks in a bowl on the (fortunately SEALED) rubbermaid container of second-string yarn.
Except that the red pompom socks had a bunch of black specks on it. Are they nyger seeds, fallen out of the giant bag that I dip into to feed the goldfinches in the front yard? Why no. that'd be too nice. They were a zillion and seventy two mouse turds.
Someone shoot me now.
First it was the ant plague.
Now it's mice.
I swear, the streets will be flowing with blood soon, and a giant cockroach will be riding on the white horse of the apocalypse.
And the ants are worse than ever. Joy. If I were able to be home long enough at a stretch, I'd call Jim to get his Syringe of Death over here, but I don't have two consecutive hours during the business day right now. Maybe I'll just have to cancel some stuff, and sit around so he can dispatch the ants AND the mice in one mighty blow from his chemical-laden fist.
Oh man. I was supposed to be working in Kelly's class right now.
Truly, I need to be put out to pasture.