Posted by: DD | August 21, 2006

no. 257 – Of Mice and Men

A couple years ago, Mr. DD and I bought one of those carts at a garage sale that you pull behind a bicycle so you can buckle in your toddler(s) and get your exercise (Exercise! Bwahahaha!). We He used it quite a few times that first two summers, but I don’t think it saw the light of day last year. This season, the only time it was removed from its folded-up-so-you-could-hide-it-from-the-child-and-therefore-avoid-the-potential-to-haul-his-40-pound-butt-around-the-block location amongst the cobwebs in our garage was when we moved it to the shop out at the acreage.

Sunday, I saw it there and told Mr. DD that I was going to sell it at our own garage sale. I picked it up and gave it a toss into the back of my Sequoia. A familiar stench assaulted my nose when I climbed in the driver’s seat of the hot vehicle. I climbed back out and raised the hatch and shoved my face into the cart and took a whiff.

Whew! It smelled like something had curled up and died! But Mr. DD couldn’t smell a thing. Maybe it’s an early pregnancy symptom (don’t we IFs look for whatever sliver a hope wherever we can even if it means thinking you can smell rotting flesh?), or just my imagination and it was just musty from sitting around for a couple of years.

We took a bunch of stuff back to the old house (because Mr. DD is a man and the whole concept of moving is beyond comprehension to anyone with more testosterone than estrogen and packed everything in the house, even though I told him to leave what we could put on a garage sale!). When I reached in to unload the cart, the smell hit me again. I started to unfold it in the driveway and in a moment of complete clarity, I knew that my initial observation that something had “curled up and died” was right on target. I think the pellets of poop falling out sealed my suspicions. I gestured wildly to Mr. DD who was nonchalantly talking to the neighbor. I didn’t want to come across as a psycho and scream for him to “get his fucking ass over here and take this death-on-wheels contraption out of my hands!” because I was unable to just let it go since my hands had curled into claws of fear around its frame.

When he finally walked over (after noticing my dry retching), he took the cart and shook it out. One, two, three… FOUR! little furry, mummified bodies fell dryly onto the pavement. MICE! I flapped my hands and did a weird little dance on my tippy-toes in response. When he dropped the cart back down, he asked for his gloves. I moved further away, still flapping and dancing, but added a 180 twirl, just for fun. After gloving up, he pulled out a live mouse and announced another had just taken off to hide under his truck.

The cart is ruined. They chewed up the seat of the cart and of course the smell of rotting rodents is not something even Febreeze can clear up. I moved the cart to the patio, downwind and when I left later that day, I figured it could stay there. I was hoping that a band of toddler-towing, bicycle thieves would ride up and take it away in the night.

I’m also dealing with the very possibility that one or two brave mice may have decided to jump ship during the transfer of the cart while in the back of my car. Lord knows they’ll be living high on the hog as anyone with a child and car know. Unfortunately, that means as the mice dine on cheetos, petrified fruit snacks and marshmallows, they are also bound to keel over from tiny cardio-infarctions.

I’ve also realized how “citified” I have become. Growing up on a farm, I was exposed to thousands of mice, dead or alive. Now I just prefer them to be dead, invisible and odorless. Is that too much to ask?

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Responses

  1. Hey! I was on the moon or something. I want I on the password protection! I promise I’ll never move again!

  2. OMG! I know the little dance and twirl you did, step for step. I think I would have to sell my car. When we bought our house from a 88 year old woman who lived in it her whole life – actually she was born in it and according to the nosey neighbor she also suffered from IF – anyway, the house was infested with mice so we lived with our inlaws for a month because I would not set foot in it until the exterminater we hired assured me one would not run across my feet or up my leg or in my hair while I slept.

    Perhaps the mice we trying to tell us the house is cursed with IF and we should rethink our purchase….. I guess that would be giving those fast moving creatures too much credit.

  3. I’m laughing at the thought of little mouse infarctions, but am absolutely freaked out that one (or more!) might still be in the car! Eeeeeek! What if they’re mates? And reproduce? And how nasty is it that the little fuckers lived amongst rotting carcasses (carcai?)? Man, I hate mice. You’re one tough broad.

  4. I’m sure the dance you did was ballroom caliber.

  5. Ugggh. Your nose knows. I used to keep mice for pets. Now I freak out if I see them anywhere out of a cage. I’ve done the very same dance, I think.

    ps I’d love a pw if you’re sharing.

  6. I truly wish I could have been there to see the dance. I bet it would have looked similar to the one I did when a large palmetto bug (nice name for huge fucking flying roach) scurried across the back porch directly toward me last week.

  7. Oh no, no, no. That would have absolutely sentt me over the edge. I would be doing the dance with you. UGH!!!!

  8. Amen to the city-dwellers. Mice, especially dead ones, not so good in the child-towing trailer contraption. When we moved, it took us awhile to get to the garage boxes. I had stored some old blankets out there. When we opened one of those boxes, it was THE SMELL from hell. Yup, swaddled cozily dead in my blankets. But we only had two dead mice. They’d come from WA to IN with us. We left them in IN. groooossssssssssssss…..
    Wish I could’ve seen that dance.

  9. Ah the smell of rotting mice. Nothing like it. Once you’ve smelled it, there is no escaping… you know it everytime.

    We had a mouse in our jeep once. The kids claimed it was there and I didn’t really believe it…until I found it dead in the glove compartment. Of course, that was after I smelled it for a few weeks and just couldn’t *find* it. Nasty creatures.

    Here’s to hoping you got them all.

  10. Mice… yikes I hate mice!!!

    Hope I am one of the chosen ones who gets your password!! 🙂

    Take care

  11. I know that flappy dance! I did it once, on top of my sofa, when I saw a mouse run behind the stove in my kitchen!!!! I really, really hope there were no hitch hikers. Regarding men and moving – my biggest fear in moving is MFH’s shop. OMG – he is such a pack rat. Do they know how to throw anything out besides that which might be important to us????

  12. Oh, sweet Jesus, the mice!

    As my old man would say, “nothing that a little cyanide couldn’t fix.”

  13. Your visual of the tippy-toe dance was priceless. ROTFLMFAO

  14. I don’t think that is too much to ask at all! When I lived in the country, I often did that dance when encountering mice, both dead and alive. I pride myself on not being too girlie but mice, spiders, and snakes do that to me.

    And thanks for the web sites – love that round changing pad. I’ve never seen one like that before!

  15. Mice suck. Nuff said.

  16. eeeeeeeeekk!

  17. eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!

    That’s just yucky. I’ve come across mouse droppings before, but never the real thing. Ick!

  18. I don’t blame you. Mice are DISGUSTING!! The thing that causes me to jump up and down uncontrolably lately is spiders and crickets. Ewww I HATE crickets!!

  19. Oh. You. Poor. Thing. How utterly vile. Rotting flesh plus droppings plus live mice… Hello, nightmare. The smell alone would have done me in.

    I’m sure you looked really cute doing your flapping and twirling dance, though.

  20. Hey, I have one of those drag-your-toddler-cart-thingies too. Joe gave it to me for Christmas last year attached to a brand-new 15 speed bike. I used it once. The cart-thingie, not the bike.

    Ewww. mice.:::shudder::: HATE.THEM.
    Even though I know that they are more afraid of me than I am of them (yeah, RIGHT!!) they still make me do the “OHMYGODAMOUSE” dance.


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