I was running late. There was no reason. I just was. The kids were playing outside and I thought I'd just zip on out and fire up the grille fer some cheeekohn. Uhhh-huh.
I flipped the switch and whipped open the lid to stare at a large healthy, beady-eyed field mouse. Oh yes. I sucked in my breath and held it. I felt my lips purse. A very pinched hysterically-brinked "Heeeee" squeaked out. I dropped to my knees (as if the little fart had wings and was going to fly at me to bite my eyes out) and ripped open the cupboard underneath. Well I had scared that disgusting, mangy ball of rot down to the shelf...we met again: eye to eye.
"Huuup" I stuttered and fell back on my arse slamming the cupboard shut as I did so. I was shivering like I'd been dipped in cold,gelatinous gravy. (How's THAT for a feeling conveyed????) I jumped back up and realized I had scared the booger back up top. Here we were again; playing a horrific game of Marco/Pollo. The screams were LOOOOONG but I don't know whose were loudest. I slammed the lid and shook my hands in an Inspector Clouseau judo chop. Heeeya! I ran inside to hide from the beast crouching in my grill waiting to devour me. I forgot that I'd turned the gas on. oooopps. I went back out and turned it off. I hate them but I would never hurt one. Live and let live...just elsewhere. I'm guessing he got out. I won't go look. Cheech can do it.
We had oven-roasted chicken.
I'm such a boob.
giggle and point. It's okay.
