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Moving Woes

The problem with moving is not the wrapping of fine crystal.  It’s not the thought of packing up the entire house.   It’s not trying to figure out what needs to stay until the final move so that you don’t end up with stuff stored here and there while you frantically search for the rice cooker to make Alpha Hubby’s lunch.  It’s not the cost of purchasing bubble wrap to wrap the aforementioned fine crystal.  No, the problem with moving is THIS – this creature gearing up for the Olympic run he’ll have to make when he gets to my house:


No matter how careful you are and where you get your boxes from – the grocery store or a professional moving service – sometimes you end up with a nasty, squeaking, Speedy Gonzales wanna-be running around your house screaming “¡Ándale! ¡Ándale! ¡Arriba! ¡Arriba!”  He’s confused because when he went to sleep in that cardboard box, he was at the “We Charge You Out the Kazoo to Sell You Boxes to Move You Budget World” in a pile of boxes.  He woke up to a mad woman freaking out because she keeps catching glimpses of him running here and there, thither and yon, praying he doesn’t go “Up! Up!”

I don’t do mice.  I hate mice.  I’ve lived with mice, lots and lots of mice.  And while mice are definitely better than RATS, of which I’ve experienced exactly one in my life when he came in my house through the dryer vent, munched his way through the entire lint screen of the dryer and an entire loaf of San Francisco sourdough French bread, and leaving one piece of bread holding up the wrapper enough so it was sitting there as if it were still full of bread.  He died because he touched my San Francisco sourdough French bread.  Not because his stomach exploded because he ate so much bread.  No, because he was stupid enough to eat the poison I put out after I discovered his perfidy, crawl up under the fridge and die, causing me to beg a neighbor to come dispose of the body.  I don’t care where you stand on rat poison.  You were not there.  He had to die because he ate my San Francisco sourdough French bread.   NO ONE touches my San Francisco sourdough French bread.

OK, got side tracked there.  While mice are better than rats, I don’t do mice and will not live with them.  I call in The Exterminator.   Here is his, “If you don’t stop taking pictures of me” glare.  I’d run… if I was a mouse… wouldn’t you? 

Leland07 FACE

When we first married, I’m sure he thought that was the only reason I married him.  You know, to kill bugs, spiders, snakes, and mice.  Once he got the house sealed so we only deal with an occasional spider, life got easier and he figured out that THAT was not the reason I married him.  Heh heh heh.

I digress.  In order to facilitate packing up this house, I bought home the boxes and bubble wrap…  and a pesky mouse.  He started squeaking last night from somewhere near my fridge.  I don’t know why.  I don’t want to know why.  I just want him gone.

Squeaking, squeaking, always squeaking.  UGH.

6 thoughts on “Moving Woes

  1. Mice don’t bother me that much. I get a little angina when I see spiders though, even photos. This martha tweet almost made me die. My mother and I had a deal growing up. She’d come running when I screamed “Spider” and I’d come running if I heard “Mouse” My mom found a little mouse in her garden tub, and I went in to catch it in a tea towel. I took him out to the deck, and was about to release him when he hopped out of the towel and scurried up my braid over my shoulder and launched himself out into the night. I’m just glad I didn’t have to detangle a mouse from my hair.

  2. Nan, mouse or not….the look on dear Leland’s face…to say the least is yes “stop taking pictures of me”, but also, knowing Leland, I think I would decide to be more scared of HIM then the little pesky mouse!! Ha!

  3. I hate mice too! But… I hate spiders worse! I would have married him if he could make all spiders go away! LOL.

    Yes I am dreading the move too. We are combining 2 households so it will be really difficult to decide what we CAN combine and WHO gets to put their recliner in the living room hahaha.(of course his will go with us and I will keep the love seat that reclines!)

    I began the box gathering and our basement looks like someone is ready to make a cardboard box FORT.
    PS I do the spider dance when I see one no matter how big or small and spray it… then run… then throw things at it! LOL

  4. I really really don’t like mice, either. I hate dead ones on the mousetrap, too. I always ask my husband to deal with that because I just can’t do it. NO way.

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