Only Me
This morning, as I was driving to work (early - and alone - since FrogBoy has a bad case of the skitters, and there's a RULE that you can't go to school with the scoots) - I realized there was a funny noise coming from the front end of the van. Now I am very adept at noticing these things, although I am horrible at describing them, so I shut off the radio to get a proper feel for the noise before I put SuperHubby on alert.
Fast forward just a few minutes, and I am CONVINCED that there is something alive in my glove box. It sounds like it's scratching and clawing and trying to get out - and near me. It didn't help that FrogBoy had horse therapy yesterday and so OF COURSE a field mouse somehow must have gotten in my car and is too stupid to get out. Now I'm cussing mice while simultaneously figuring out how to escape the car without crashing into a tree.
Now, anyone who knows me knows that I am a total weenie when it comes to anything of the rodent variety. If you didn't, (a) now you know and (b) DUH!!! So I call SuperHubby, who you would think would be in a rather good mood (other than the possible brain infection issue) because who do you think got up at 4 a.m. with scooter boy? Certainly not my main man. Sometimes that whole deaf thing comes in really handy. But I digress.
So I call my knight in shining armor, preface the entire conversation by explaining that I know it's going to sound weird, but he's been married to me for a long time and should be used to it by now, and I'm just SURE something alive is in my glove box. Could he possibly meet me in front of the house and check it for me? (Okay, he may have been a little cranky because it was 6:30 a.m. and he's so NOT a morning person...but I had a mouse in my car - with me!!)
So I go home, and SH checks the glove box. Nothing. Then he checks the other glove box. Still nothing. I must say I was a little disappointed. I mean, honestly, there was something knocking around in there. He tells me to listen for the noise to happen again and take note of when it does it. Of course, it hasn't done it since.
Guess it just needed a little TLC from SH. And now I look like a big dummy that's afraid of the cell charger in my glove box.
1 comment:
I feel your pain. Apparently, I have a super-sensitive nose, which helps me pick up on the different weird smells in my apartment. However, half of the time, my husband does not share my olfactory affliction, so I am left to wonder alone where in the world (well, where in the apartment) that smell is coming from. I know I am not crazy, so I am certain that the smell really is there, but many times my husband is in denial. Maybe I have a dead field mouse in my ceiling and field mice are just imperceivable to husbands...
Post a Comment