Thursday, March 12, 2009
I woke up this morning, ready like Tigger to bounce out of the house and to the gym; I have been slightly appalled at the "fluidity" of my arms in my cooking videos and so I have decided to put a stop to it. Ha!
Anyway, as I was walking through the kitchen, I noticed this in my fruit bowl:
I pulled it out on the counter, so I'd remember to ask Bren about it when he woke up. I figured maybe he'd seen a brown spot or something on it and dug it out with his fingers. It seems like the kind of yucky-boy thing he'd do. :)
Ah but it's an even yuckier thing. When I got home, I asked Bren about it and he said he hadn't touched it. We both looked closer, and Bren confirmed my deepest fear: tiny teeth marks. We have mice.
Deeper investigation uncovered a gently nibbled cherry tomato. I love that the mice in my house have turned their noses up at my rice and oatmeal, in favor of my fresh, organic fruit. Ugh!
And (excuse me while I throw up), mice poo:
Now, I always laughed at those men and women who jump up on chairs when they see a mouse. What's the big deal? But having a mouse as a house guest? That's a different matter. At first I felt uneasy, as if I had been invaded. I imagined them sniffing around all my precious cumin and mustard seeds, which from past experience, I've learned they quite like. I'll have to replace them all! And no more keeping any food on the counter, especially fruit. But my fridge is so full already (thankyou God!) and you can't keep tomatoes in the fridge because they'll lose their excellent texture and and and....
I was spiraling.
Then, my fear turned to shame.
"Wait a second. Does that mean my kitchen is (GASP)..... dirty?"
Freeze that scene for a second, as I give you some background. I come from a family of horrifically comprehensive cleaners. I doubt there is a house on EARTH as clean as my mum's. I'd even let those two British ladies on the BBC inspect my mum's house and I bet they wouldn't find a cotton-pickin' thing.
Having worked in hospitals overseeing sanitation and cleanliness issues, Mum is the gestapo of cleaning. In addition to interrogating you about your cleaning techniques and schedule, she will run her finger over the top of your window moulding, inspect the yellow'd arms of your white workout shirts, and scrub all your tarnished copper and brass pots by hand... FOR FUN. Mum mops the floors everyday, cleans the bathroom every other day, only uses her bath towel for a week tops, changes her sheets ever week.... and so on and so forth. (Don't tell me you do this too! I don't think I could live with the shame!!!). I remember how appalled she was when visiting me at graduation in Evanston; she whispered, "Is Bren really going to wear the same shirt he slept in to lunch with us?". I nodded slowly, my shame keeping my from making any eye contact.
You can see how having anything resembling a dirty kitchen is sort of like letting the family legacy down. In a haze, I instinctively reached for the dish soap and started washing the dishes.
Luckily, we have a pest-control company in the family! (If you're in Boston and you need envrionmentally-conscious, yet effective, pest control, look EHS up. They're the best. Plus you're keeping in the family. My family I guess. Which I'm happy to share with you, if you ask nicely.)
Anyway, Bren reminded me of all the stories Bren's brother Jed has told us of going to the best, fanciest restaurants in Boston, and finding all kinds of rodents, no matter how clean the kitchen was. Where there's food, there are rodents. Bren managed to talk me off the ledge a little, but I've still got my pinkie toe on it. And I'm going to tackle that kitchen bit by bit, giving it the legendary and oft-feared Sequeira treatment.
Bren shot off a quick email to Jed, and we're set on our mouse-trap strategy to persuade the little buggers that they might find another home more... hospitable. In the meantime, every little sound makes me suspicious. I'm trying to send out mean vibes to any critters in my vicinity and hoping that'll make them scatter, because honestly, I'm kinda scared of seeing what the mouse-traps snare.
at 12:56 PM