Where I prove my brain is on a 48-hour delay.

A few days ago, my husband remarked that there were holes in two of our kid's halloween bags.


"Cheap bags?" I asked.  But knew the answer to, because I bought them at Hobby Lobby for $.30, so really, I think China *somehow* paid me to carry these things around as some sort of international marketing ploy.


"I don't think so," he said.  "They didn't rip on the seam."


"Must be mice then," I said.


"Probably," he responded.  


And that was that.


Fast-forward two days.  While sewing the girl's Christmas skirts:


WE HAVE F-ING MICE IN THE KID'S HALLOWEEN CANDY.  OH MY GOD, MICE IN THE CAAAAANDY!!!!  GAH!!!!


I think the full truth of it just slapped me in the face with the possibility that my kids are eating rabies-- if its possible to contract it via mice saliva on a Snickers bar?  I have no way of finding out, because you might remember, I am NEVER ALLOWED to Wikipedia "RABIES" ever again.

And really, WHY am I surprised.  We live in a basement that walks out to a wooded area--AND I had to give mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to a chipmunk this summer.  Okay, not really, but I did have to fish it out of the pool with the extra-long skimmer and that's *practically* the same thing.  It sat frozen for a moment, and I was compelled to wrap it in a blanket, but when I tried to scoop it off the pavement with the skimmer (again), it mustered up all its strength and bolted.


"Mike, I think there are mice in the kitchen."


"Didn't we just talk about this a few days ago?  Yes, there are mice in the kitchen and they are eating the Halloween candy."


{Insert gagging noises.}


"Did you think I was kidding about the mice?  Because I wasn't."


"I wasn't really thinking anything.  I was on Facebook."


"Well did you pick the bags off the floor?" 


Sidenote:  If you're wondering why the candy bags are on the floor, then you don't know me very well.  Everything is on the freaking floor here; it's how I *organize*.


"I'm not touching them.  What if they're in...there?"


"Kick them first.  They aren't in there."


"You do it."


"I'm not coming home from work to pick Halloween candy off the floor.  Plus, you need to take a picture and blog it."


This last statement posed a real conundrum, friends--weighing the part of me that KNOWS this is *excellent* comedy, against the knowledge that it may very well KILL the very neat and tidy in-laws WITH WHOM WE LIVE.  But at heart, I suppose that I am a journalist of life (and fat-assed mice).

Happy Weekend, Friends.