It seems my writer's block can only be broken by some sort of crisis.
Although, once we got the mice gone, I then had to deal with (all by myself, because Jason was out of town and unreachable) an infestation of ants. IN MY ROOM. What the heck? Contrary to popular myth, this fat kid does NOT hide Twinkies and Ho Ho's in her nightstand, so I don't know what they were after.
(That reminds me of a joke my dad used to tell - maybe a Flip Wilson gag? - "Do you believe in the hereafter? Good. Because I'm here after your money.)
(HAHAHA. You've missed my razor-sharp wit, haven't you?)
Once I got shed of the ants, via two applications of Terro, the best ant-killer ever invented, it was FLIES.
We have never, in the six years we've lived at our present address, had an issue with flies. Ever. It started out being a couple, which we chalked up to Anna Marie not closing the back door properly. And then one day I get a phone call from Jason, asking em to go to the store (THWACK!) and pick up (THWACK!) some flying insect spray (TWACK!).
Yes, he was calling me with one hand, and slaughtering flies with the other. Because he's a great multitasker that way.
They were all congregating around one of the windows in the kitchen, and were apparently quite dumb. Because even though they saw the rolled up newspaper sending their insect brethren to that big manure pile in the sky, they didn't move, and consequently suffered the same fate.
Thankfully, the flies seem to be gone. We're hoping for a nice, cold winter to kill them and all their mosquito cousins who live in the drainage ditch at the back of our yard, and attack us when we go out there to spend time with the dogs.
I don't know anyone named Moses, I haven't been to Egypt lately, and I'm not expecting frogs to show up in my kitchen any time soon.
And no, I'm not going to rename this blog "Plagues I have known." Just so you know.