Yes, I Am A Woman

I definitely have some catching up to do on this blog, I know. I promised pictures of Europe, but there are some on my facebook page. Just look at them there, HA! I'll at least post a random picture from time to time of our trip........we had such a great time!
But to get to the heart of this post, I must share something rather embarassing with you. I've always had determined intentions to be a strong woman, not some girly girl who gets squeamish or emotional when things surprise me or upset me. I used to be quite anxious, before I gave in and starting taking a SSRI, and I would cry at the drop of a hat. Just ask poor Eric. It's amazing he even married me, since we started dating pre-SSRI. Ever since then (and this is after many moments of crying hysterically for very minor, insignificant reasons), I've been pretty good about not losing it over the small stuff, so I'd convinced myself (not sure about anyone else) that I am indeed a strong woman who can deal with whatever comes her way. I don't need to cry or react irrationally, I am independent and can handle myself.
Then this morning happened.
On Friday as I was eating some cheese puffs (I could dedicate an entire blog to my bad eating habits), I realized the bag had holes all in it. I thought that was odd and it didn't hit me for a full 5 minutes what that probably meant. Once I realized I may have a mouse in my house, I went down to the pantry and my eyes were suddenly opened to what had probably been in front of my face for days or maybe even weeks. I noticed other items of food that had bite marks and holes. I noticed little pieces of mouse droppings that I thought had just been crumbs or something all over my pantry. I had a dawning realization that the stomach pain I'd had for 2 days a week and a half ago that kept me home from work could probably be attributed to me eating food that a mouse had been into. I realize you're probably gagging while you're reading this, and trust me, that is an understatement to what I was actually doing. I freaked. Eric had just left that morning for a week, so I was home alone and had no idea what to do. I threw out the food that I knew the mouse had been into (and at this point, let's just say there's only one mouse) and went to Target to get some traps. I kept thinking about what I'd been eating and just kept grossing myself out.
The only way I got through the weekend was to not really think about things and I threw away any food I came across that looked like it needed to be thrown out. I didn't want to clean the entire pantry out until the mouse was caught, because I didn't want to have to do it again. As of last night, I had not caught a mouse yet, so I naively thought that since I had thrown out any open food and had closed things up pretty well in the pantry, maybe the mouse had left because it couldn't get into any more food. Yeah Amanda, because the mouse has only been getting fat off of your food for who knows how long now, maybe he just gave up once you closed a couple of boxes. Right.
This morning I checked the trap by the fireplace........nothing. I opened the pantry and looked at that trap......nothing. I noticed a bag of pecans that were out of place, so I picked it up and saw the hole in the corner, cursed under my breath, and threw them in the trash. I came back to the pantry and kind of stuck my head in looking around for more evidence and I came face to face with a very fat mouse. A very scared, very fat mouse. And now we come back to the theme of this post. Did I laugh in the face of my nemesis? Was I a strong woman who cursed at the stupid mouse and tried to catch it? Uh, no. I screamed bloody murder at the top of my lungs.............even with the windows shut, I was surprised I didn't get neighbors coming over to check on me. I probably screamed 5 times, and of course, the mouse went running. I have no idea where, but it got out of there as fast as its fat little legs could run. I started crying like you wouldn't believe (I think it was the shock of it and PMS doesn't help!) and called Eric, because he could do so much from 600 miles away. He was laughing at me because I was crying and had that high pitched squeal to my voice where he couldn't understand a word I was saying. Of course, now he feels bad about it, but I'm sure I sounded ridiculous.
So much for being a strong, independent woman. I need help. I need my husband! I DO NOT DO WELL WITH RODENTS.
So if you have any advice for me, bring it on! In the meantime, I'm going to go and try to find my dignity.