The mousetrap

Night before last I was seized with a brilliant idea while packing Michael's lunch for the next day. I took a tiny bite out of his peanut butter sandwich, thus placing a very personal touch on his lunch, stamping my seal of approval on the whole germ-sharing-now-that-we're-married concept, and giving a Mark of Ownership to the little sandwich. Ha, ha! I thought it was a very funny idea, especially as I nestled the hard boiled egg into the dip.

There were torrential storms yesterday. We actually lost internet access at work for a while in the afternoon. But it was well compensated for by cake and ice cream at three, celebrating the birthdays of four employees this week.

Ice cream always improves my mood, and I was feeling very competent by stopping at the store on the way home from work, picking up essential groceries, and even using two coupons that I'd clipped from the Sunday paper. This feeling of elation lasted through putting the spaghetti on to boil and scrubbing down the guest bathroom, until I discovered that I'd forgotten to pick up a loaf of bread and thus could not pack Michael's lunch for today. The evening was on the point of being ruined, when Michael saved the day by suggesting that we run out to the store (which really is right around the corner) together while he read to me. Currently he's reading The Bourne Identity aloud to me, which I've never seen in movie form, and which he says is very different from the book. (With all the hype surrounding the release of the second movie, I was the 22nd person on the wait list to get it!) So we are reading it together, and then we will watch the movie, probably, and then read the second one and then criticise the second movie together.

Anyway on the way home from the store we ran into traffic. There was a car turning left, and it even pulled leftwards to give us a wide berth in which to circumvent it, but the bovine Georgia drivers in front of us sat patiently waiting for it to turn because Heaven forbid they should run even so much as an inch of tire tread on the shoulder. I began narrative commentary on the situation. 'Come on, people, how hard can this be? I mean, it's not like we're navigating the Straits of Magellen here!' Michael started laughing. 'I think it's really funny that you use words like Straits of Magellen in casual conversation!' The really funny part is that I obviously didn't know how to spell it.

Later he said: Oh, by the way, I should have asked you to pick up a mousetrap while we were at the store.
Me: Oh, no! Do you think we have mice?
Michael: Yep. You'll never believe where, either.
Me: Where?
Michael: In the fridge. I found evidence of them today.
(Thoughts race madly through my head, picturing little mouse pellets strewn across the refrigerator shelves, wondering how this horror has happened, and envisioning the waste of having to throw out everything in the fridge, poison the kitchen, and hope they never come back.)
Michael: Yeah, there was a bite taken out of my sandwich today.
Me (pause; then realisation dawns): Oh, you! (Throws pillow.)

As the Apostle Paul would say, this witness is true.