I was sitting in the dining room finishing the first season of Friday Night Lights (a show which is so good it just makes me love the world a little bit more) because I wanted to give it to my Mom when I go back to Richmond this weekend. So basically, I was still up at 2 in the morning watching TV. I'm more than a little embarrassed about that, but whatever. Back to the pressing issue. Out of the corner of my eye I spied a flurry of movement in the den. However, as it was 2 in the morning, I was delirious from watching so many episodes of Friday Night Lights on my laptop, and I was slowly sipping my second glass of wine of the night, I was hopeful: maybe my mouse-paranoid brain imagined it.
However, my anxiety was pricked up enough that I slowly walked and looked under the couch in the den. I thought I could make out a shape that didn't belong, but it was dark, so I wanted to get a flashlight to make sure. So I walked to the kitchen, opened up the cabinet, and quietly opened the toolbox before realizing, "DAMNIT. The flashlight isn't in here." and that I would have to go through the den to get to it, as it was by the front door.
After walking calmly, propelled by sheer terror, I got the flashlight, knelt down, plastered my face to the rug (which reminds me, EW we need to vacuum), and beamed the flashlight underneath the couch. Sure enough, there he was. JUST SITTING THERE. How dare he. From this angle it was pretty clear he was a mouse, as I could see his tail (ick ick ick). So I went into the bedroom and awakened a not very happy Preston from his slumber. After confirming that the mouse wasn't an optical illusion of mine, brought on by too much Friday Night Lights and merlot, he went and got the broom and the dustpan (obviously essential mouse-catching weapons). After the three of us (four, counting the mouse) stood in the den for a moment, Preston banged on the sofa and of course the mouse shot out from underneath it, naturally making a beeline for me. I screamed (sorry, neighbors!), Callie jumped around and thought it was time to play (thanks, Cal), and Preston tried to see where it went (so brave!). I frantically ran into the bedroom, where I stuffed clothes at the doorway so the mouse wouldn't slip underneath, and stood on the bed, still dressed from the day and wearing my Ugg boots.
Preston looked under every piece of furniture in the apartment and opened up the door to the hallway, but no luck. We cannot find the mouse. Thus, I live in fear.
Nevertheless, I was pretty impressed with how calmly I handled the situation (pre-standing on the bed in my Uggs and stuffing sweatshirts at the doorway). Even though I am completely riddled with anxiety, and am normally a bundle of nerves, in crises (and yes, I do consider this a crisis), this lovely calm part of my brain seems to take over, and I think and act almost logically. Which is huge, since I am probably the least logical person ever. This Zen-like stillness seems to inhabit my body and propel me through the crisis. Granted, as soon as possible, this Zen-like stillness evaporates and I resume my normal anxious tension (thus my screaming and running into the bedroom). As soon as Preston took control of the situation (i.e. banging on the sofa. What a boy.), and I felt like I could let me guard down, I did.
So I REALLY want to laugh about this. Like a lot. But because I still don't know for sure that the mouse is gone (and that there aren't more-ACK), I can't. SO my mission today is to stay out of the apartment as much as possible before I head back to VA tonight. Callie and I are going to Valley Forge National Park for her walk, which should be beautiful, even though it's freezing here, and then I plan to camp out at Barnes and Noble and write wedding thank yous. And drink lots of tea.
Seriously, mice. Why my apartment? We're CLEAN and no fun. I promise.
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