You have a rodent infestation, shall I terminate?

(To quote the awesome armed-and-dangerous Ironhide from Transformers.)

I woke up this morning in a good mood. One of only two days a week that Josh and I have off work together. So what do we like to do on Wednesdays with all of our spare time? Not a damned thing!

However, when I ventured into the kitchen to make some grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch, I noticed something peculiar on top of the microwave – where I left the bread the night before. Little specks of some kind of clear material scattered about. A thorough inspection of the bread confirmed – a little mouse helped himself to my not-very-cheap Sara Lee 100% Honey Wheat bread during the night – and didn’t even have the manners to clean up after himself.

We’ve had problems with mice in the past, but I thought we were finally rid of them of good, since I hadn’t been finding any traces of them. But even so, I take precautions just in case and began keeping all bread products in the microwave – away from little disgusting rodent teeth. Let me tell you, it can really be a pain in the ass. Cramming bread, buns, tortillas, dinner rolls, etc. all in the microwave to keep them safe, only to take each of them out just to warm up a bowl of soup. That’s how much my EXPENSIVE, DELICIOUS BREAD MEANS TO ME. Oddly, they never seem to notice the cheap, crappy store brand bread I buy every now and then. Go figure.

So what happens the one single night that I leave the bread out? Cinderelly’s mice decided to have the feast of champions. Or should I say, the last supper, because now I am the fairy godmother of death, harbinger of doom! And stay out of my pumpkin carriage! …What? (I should watch Cinderella again, to get my metaphors straight.)

No grilled cheese sandwiches + tainted bread + roaming, pilfering rodents = one angry lady. And a sad husband, who was looking forward to the melty, cheesy deliciousness. Our day of nothingness turned into a trip to Wal-Mart for more bread and other odds and ends. Because you simply can’t go to Wal-Mart to get only one thing. We can’t, at least. We also ended up with a box of cereal, doughnut holes, glue traps, and a bookcase. Figure that one out.

The glue traps are set, ready and waiting for any unsuspecting critter that dares to venture into my kitchen. Not the most humane way of going about things, but I really don’t have any sympathy or good feelings toward mice. I’m sure they serve a purpose somewhere on this earth, but once they cross the line into enemy territory, it’s fair game.

I’m off to admire our bookcase.

Scar tissue

It seems like I’m always hurting myself in one way or another. Where I work, I usually get some kind of burn or cut every day that I’m there. That’s what happens when you give a clumsy person sharp objects and place them in front of a hot grill. I guess I’ve gotten used to it in a way…meaning I’ve come to expect it.

Yesterday I was digging around in the ice bin at work, quickly trying to fill a up a bucket to dump before the lunch rush hit. A big block of ice, which I didn’t know was ready to drop into the bin, fell hard on my hand. It was nice and jagged too. At first, I just snatched my hand back and held it thinking ‘that hurt, but it’s okay! It’s fine…it’s fine.’ When I looked at it though, it was bleeding and the skin was torn. Ouchies! But, I had to get back to work, so I wrapped it up in a few Band-Aids and went on with things.

It looks and feels much better today, but I’m sure in a couple of weeks it will turn out to be just another scar added to the many I already have on my body. That doesn’t bother me though. In some strange way, I think that scars add character, and all of them tell a story. Like the one I have on my left knee from when a dog knocked me down on a gravel driveway when I was three. Or the one on my right knee when I fell off my bike. I have a few minor burn scars on my hands (again, when you have a clumsy person cooking…), and even a tiny scar of unknown origins on my forearm. Not to mention a scar that I have on my…well…let’s just say I got that one during childbirth.

A lot of people think scars are ugly and try to remove them or cover them up, but not me. (Of course, I’m not including horrible scars that leave someone disfigured, just regular, minor scars). I just let mine shine. Partly because I don’t consider them something worth hiding, and partly because I’m too lazy to do anything about it anyway! This one will be no different. Even Harrison Ford has a scar on his chin from a car accident, and he’s been in a lot of movies where the scar has actually been written into the script. I think that’s pretty cool. And when I was going through my heartthrob crush on him from the ages of 9-12 (shut up, I know he was old enough to be my dad!), I sure didn’t think anything of his flawed chin!

How do you feel about them?