Of Mice and Mo - A Self-incriminating Post

I'm a bit of a control freak...to put it mildly. This sometimes leads to over-the-top incidences taking place in my life.

Over the past couple of weeks I've been preoccupied and worried about the presence of a mouse (or as several people have said, "Get real, where there is one mouse, there are many!") in my garage. In fact, I've seen horrific evidence that one of the little scamps spent some time inside my car. The whole situation turns my stomach and leaves me feeling a bit powerless.

Today is not only a Monday (ugh!) but also the first day back to school and work after a week off for Spring Break. Nothing seemed to move along this morning as effortlessly as it does in my imaginary, perfect life. Instead it felt rather like a train wreck from the first alarm (trust me, this was a snooze button day!).

I'm using this as an excuse for what took place after dropping off my son and niece at their school. I walked out of the school to my car with my thoughts circling around the mouse issue. Its no fun to be a control freak and find yourself outsmarted by a varmint and his pals. Plus, I was feeling very violated and apprehensive about where the darn things might be hiding...waiting to pounce on me.

I opened my car door and started to sit down. That's when I heard a screech sound...just as my tush was hitting the seat.

I freaked and started screaming (yes, in the parking lot of my child's school...not my proudest moment), leaping out of the car (I have a fantastic bruise on my leg from hitting my steering wheel during the emergency exit) with little finesse and lots of awkward and flustered hopping and jumping. My frazzled brain had it all figured out...I was sitting on one of the mice! It'd been waiting for my return!

I whirled around...but, no mouse was in sight. Then I noticed the cool breeze on my leg.

Apparently I ripped my jeans (granted, they are old and a bit threadbare in spots). The screeching sound was the fabric tearing...not a mouse squealing for mercy as my booty squashed him.

I was humiliated...and shaking...and apparently in need of new jeans. I do hope that no exterior security cameras caught this whole escapade on film, reliving it in words is humiliating enough without a digital version existing.

All of this is a great reminder to a prolific control freak that not everything is going to meld at my touch. Although, let's be clear, I did return home and put out more traps for the mice who seem to be haunting my life. I will prevail...just you wait.