Last night, upon our arrival home after Danielle's fabulous 40th birthday party (surprise, Danielle!), my husband opened the pantry door to check on the status of his mousetraps. And what do you know--in mousetrap number 3, a poor (and very dead) mousie was trapped.
I think our individual responses to this sad state of affairs say a lot about us. My husband, of course, let out a victory cry--No mouse is a match for him!
Jack was disgusted. Why couldn't we have used a humane trap, then taken the mouse out back and deposited him beyond our fence?
I refused to look, weenie that I am.
And Will--dear, sweet little Will, said, "Wait, let me go get my camera--I want to take a picture!"
Um, you know, I don't even know what to think about that.
Your Tiny Hand Is Frozen
5 hours ago