I'm One Step From Night Vision Goggles and a Bazooka

“What the hell are you doing?” George asked as he stumbled out of our bedroom and attempted to make his way around me to the coffeemaker.

“Get out of my way buster, I’m going to get that little fucker.”

“You do realize it’s five a.m., you’re wearing only a t-shirt, running through the house wielding a broom like it’s a weapon?”

“Of course I know…I’m not a sleep runner.” Whack, whack, whack went the broom. “Damn, I missed.”

“I need coffee.”

“You could get another broom and help me try to whack the little shit.”

“Hey lady, not even the cat is helping you.”

“He at least made his “meep, meep” sound to alert me we’d been invaded. You just came out scratching and whining.”

“Shit,” George yelled, scaring me, the cat…and the mouse that ran under the dishwasher right between the three glue traps placed under it. George on the other ‘foot’ had a glue trap stuck to his barefoot. “This place is a freaking minefield of mouse catching devices. You’ve finally lost your mind.”

“Not my fault your big foot stepped under the microwave stand and got a glue trap. And for your information all my devices are cat safe, if not husband safe.”

Honestly, George was right, but I wasn’t telling him that.

When you live in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by pastures and mountain meadows, you are a mouse magnet. However after spending an entire Saturday filling every new crack and possible opening for a mouse to get in, and feeling I was once again Queen of my castle, one little shit invaded. This mouse was a genetic anomaly. It NEVER ran along the wall edges. This vermin continually ran through the middle of the kitchen and pantry.

The floors and counters had been bleached so many times the house smelled like an indoor swimming pool. Next, I tried putting Bounce fabric softener all around the house. Since we have a pet I couldn’t fill the room with glue or spring-loaded traps, so I invested a huge amount of money on the metal tin cat box catchers.  Never caught a thing. Finally I built little forts around glue traps so a mouse could get in but not the cat. I watched the damn thing LITERALLY run in, out and around a minefield of these.

Since neither the cat nor George was dutifully obsessed with killing Osama Bin Larder, I’ve ordered night vision goggles and a bazooka, (which was a lot easier to purchase online than you’d suspect).  I may have gotten carried away when I also bought a ghillie suit, but that was more for fun than camouflage.

 I wonder how I'm going to explain my plan to blow up a mouse with a bazooka to George?

"Stop tying yourselves together and jumping on the trampoline!"

“Stop tying yourselves together and jumping on the trampoline!” Billie yelled out the door at the kids just after answering the phone. “Ah shit, now Fred is tying himself to the girls.”

And so began another typical phone conversation with my daughter.

“Why are the kids tying themselves together?” I asked.

“I have no idea. But can you explain to me how in the hell two straight A students can be so stupid?”

“I assume you mean Lizzie and her friend, since I’m pretty sure Fred’s in the mix because he’s eight and wants to hang with his pre-teen sis and her hot friend?”

“Oh gross Mom.”

“First Billie, to assume straight A’s has anything to do with using the common sense part of your brain is erroneous.  And second, my little man Fred is the smart one. If you can’t impress your older sister’s friends with your immaturity…then trip them on the trampoline and fall on them.”

“You know it’s hard to believe I didn’t lock you away in the basement years ago.”

“As Huey Lewis and The News sang, it’s hip to be cool.”

“Who the hell is Huey and why is he singing the news?”

“How did someone as awesome as me manage to raise such a fuddy duddy?”

“I think the awesome came when you had grandkids and could get paybacks on your kids.”

“Yeh, that is awesome!”

“HEY! Get off the trampoline with the rake?” Billie yelled.

“A rake?”

“I don’t even ask what they’re up to anymore. I just drink after they all go to bed.”

“Speaking of drinking…”

“Stop! Booze is the “one who can’t be named” in our house till after nine p.m.”

“Is that why you serve me gin and tonic in a thermal coffee mug with a lid?”

“Maybe.”

“Wow, all this time I thought you had a major caffeine habit, and it turns out it’s an alcohol habit.”

“What’s your point?”

“Maybe you’re not such a fuddy duddy after all. I’m so proud.”

“Well…me and my ‘coffee mug’ are going to sit outside and focus my full attention on the little dissidents, as I’m pretty sure they’re planning a coup.”

“Hang in there. In a few years you’ll be able to join me on the deck and drink straight from the bottle.”

“That is a real classy thing to aspire too.”

“Yepper, and I ain’t wearin’ no shoes neither.”

“Oh Lord, I pray I got my father’s genes.”  And Billie hung up…again.  Why does she keep doing that to me?