He Needs to Put His Face Down In It!

Okay, so I have a problem. I laugh when you're not supposed to laugh. I'm the nervous laugher!

Recently we noticed mouse droppings in a cabinet. I told Jeff he's the "man" of the house and I think it should be his job to rid our house and cabinets of critters. He said he would go to Lowe's and buy some traps. Well, he didn't. Sunday I went to Kroger to get our weekly groceries and while I was there I picked up some glue traps for mice. We set them out last night and nothing. Tonight Jeff put a piece of cheese on it and we got a hit!

He started screaming, "I hear flopping!" I had no idea what he meant. He was in the den watching Monday Night Football while I'm in the bedroom watching Dancing with the Stars. So, he runs back here and jumps on the bed and says in the most pitiful voice, "I think we've got a mouse! He's stuck but he's not all the way on it yet. He needs to put his face down in it! I'm not a killer." Then he tells me to go look. I start laughin so hard that I can't breathe! I know it's not funny and the poor little mouse only wants some food but we don't feed those critters! I'm sending a message to his little rodent friends, "We don't like your kind, boy!"

Since starting this entry I've gone in the kitchen to look at the future dead mouse and Jeff has come back in the bedroom to inform me that he's still flopping around and that I had to get rid of it. REALLY!? All the while Hank has the cutest face. He has that perfect boxer head wrinkled up and turned sideways trying to figure out what is making the noise in the cabinet.

So, not only have I had to bring the toolbox to the marriage but the killer instinct, too? Ugh, guys...