I kill things #2112: The time I killed a mouse with my bare hands.

Disclaimer: I stole this from my old blog I started because it's Friday night, I'm a couple margarita's deep and I'm not writing a blog on a Friday night! 

The day started somewhere between regular and way too early and as I woke to the sound of Jonathan (Ex-Roomie #1) drowning his hangover with a 6am shower, I was pretty content with the day off before me. After spending the next few (or 90) minutes dramatically dancing to some 90′s pop radio and waiting for my roommates to wander off to live in the world of retail for the next few hours, I decided it was my turn to be productive,so I grabbed my hair-dye stained towel (whoops.) and “hit the showers”. Scrubbing and shampooing occurred yaddayadda anyway, now I’m clean and my mop-esque hair has resolved it’s issues and just like any regular day I collected all my belongings to make the naked dash to get dressed in my glass box of a bedroom (Honestly, I don’t even want to know how many innocent bystanders have seen me naked). But unfortunately I had to make a quick stop on my journey in order to squeeze in a little morning murder.

Now firstly, some back story. My apartment is clean, and by clean I mean spotless, and by spotless I mean we own like two pieces of furniture so it is very difficult for our apartment to get dirty. But alas, one night a couple of months back whilst Jess (Ex-Roomie #2) and I were in the kitchen making/watching her make pasta (she never makes pasta, it was a real treat for her) we were joined by what can only be described as a mouse….because that’s what it was, we have mice. Now after very sensibly assessing the situation (aka using heavy duty duct tape to very carefully seal every single entrance in to our bedrooms to avoid spooning with a rodent hmmm Jessica?) we went trap crazy. Sticky traps, snap traps, little torture chamber traps? We got you covered.


We were equipped to kill, but still we had found zero mice in our 456 traps. It’s some form of black magic, I have stopped trying to understand it and honestly, I just kind of accepted our tiny roommates. I never saw them, they never left their things lying around, it was a lovely relationship.
Now back to present day Brooklyn and me dancing across the living room when suddenly BOOM! speed racer comes out of nowhere scurrying across the living room as if he’s late, he’s late for a very important date (wrong animal but for stories sake he was wearing a waistcoat and carrying a watch). Now I don’t know about you but I hate a lot of things, and by a lot of things I mean animals. Every single one, except puppies and things under the genus adorable, but mice are NOT adorable, they are small and creepy and when they run near my feet I hit elephant mode and freak my shit….and throw lotion bottles at them apparently. Yes that is right, the most nonathletic (UNATHLETIC ISN’T A WORD! That’s lame) clumsy mess with zero aim managed to throw a half empty bottle of freakin’ coco butter over my shoulder and hit a three inch sliver of speed dead on. Part of me was proud, astonished even,part of me wanted to cry and the most overbearing part wipped out a camera to snap a picture to prove that I am an evil genius.


This is my house bitch.

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