valentine’s day massacre

An acquaintance recently accused me of getting twee in my dotage and said he missed my edgier side of old. I hope it’s still lurking there somewhere beneath the tide of pink, crayola, work deadlines and general servitude. You can’t really be an edgy mum to two five year olds, it wouldn’t be conducive to a secure childhood.  That said, in recent days Mr Rush Hour and I have had something else to talk about besides children and work and it goes by the code name of ‘Operation Charles Cheese’, so as not to alarm the children. 

Like most of the population in our part of South East London we’ve lived with the occasional mouse siting for the last five years and we’ve tried humane mouse traps (totally useless), high frequency beepers (fab for about six months, useless thereafter) and stuffing up gaps under skirting boards and between floorboards with wire wool (semi effective) but I’ve always drawn the line at proper mouse traps. But the recent cold snap (no pun intended) has meant a once a month siting has turned into a daily rodent rampage, made even worse by Leah seeing a mouse in the bathroom and letting out an ear peircing yell and now anxiously asking if a mouse will get into her bed. Enough.  When Mr Rush Hour asked me what I wanted for v-day I quippped the lines above. With a disconcerting amount of enthusiasm he returned from the shops on Saturday with four traps and a strategic plan for landmining their exit from underneath the dishwasher. Within an hour the first trap snapped with a blood curdling ping loud enough to be heard a whole room away. The next morning (we were both too sissy to look the night before) we girls all had to stay upstairs while the body was disposed of (apparently not nearly as gory as I feared). We had a conversation about where to put the body now we don’t have a regular bin anymore. Food waste recycling? Flushed down the loo? No, too horrible to contemplate so Mr Rush Hour took a trowel and went to the nearest green and buried it. He did the same this morning before he went to work. He’s now in the kitchen loading up tonight’s Charles Cheeses with oatcakes. We haven’t seen a (live) mouse since Saturday. Love that man.

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