So much for my good intentions. Apparently they came back to bite me in the ass, almost quite literally.
I really meant to take down the Christmas tree on Sunday. Really, honestly, I did. However, that little nagging sciatica problem that waylaid me back in August has started twinging up again so that pretty much eliminated any chance at tree removal.
I'm seriously thinking about leaving it up until Valentine's Day. It has plenty of red balls on it, so it should be good...right?
I think I have slept more in the past few days than I've slept since Monkey Man was born. I'm not exactly sure why other than by 8 PM I am just about dead on my feet and desperately seeking some kind of flat surface to lay my weary head on. And I sleep the sleep of the dead until around 10 PM, when I wake up, move into the bedroom, usually have a good five-minute conversation with either Joey or the dog, and then collapse yet again until the damn alarm goes off at 5:15 AM.
And no, I'm not pregnant. So forget that. Maybe I have mono? Maybe I'm finally sleeping all the time like I didn't get to do when I was a teenager? Huh.
So anyway, Mousestravaganza 2008 continued today with a return visit from the mouse killers, I mean pest control people. The guy was supposed to be here at 5 PM and when I wheeled into the driveway at 4:40 with Monkey Man in the backseat, there was a truck already sitting in my driveway. Now, that's what I call service! So I lumbered around the car to get Monkey Man out and get my laptop bag out of the front seat when the guy got out of his truck and came over.
Wow. He was hot. Like the type of hot that made me stutter like a preteen. I babbled something about mice and poison and whatever and he just grabbed his clipboard and said he'd do an inspection and take care of it.
About 15 minutes later, he knocked on the kitchen door and came in to explain what he had done. First, there was no evidence whatsoever that the mice had been in the crawlspace at all...however, LOTS of evidence in the garage. But he rebaited everything and gave me some glue traps to put out and recommended putting a blob of peanut butter in the middle of the traps so that the mice would have to go in there to actually get the peanut butter. And the whole time he's talking to me, I'm blushing like crazy because I'm imagining something out of a bad porn movie. Yikes.
So at this point I have to sign a receipt that yes, they did come to our house and the whole time I'm babbling about how I feel bad about hurting the mice because I love animals. "Ma'am, mice aren't animals. They're VERMIN," he said sternly.
Wow, that's the nicest thing anyone said to me all day. I was actually a little turned on by it. Yes, I know it's wrong in every way imaginable, but this is my bad porn movie, remember?