More Screaming...Yes, I said MORE SCREAMING

I was talking on the phone with Marcos the other day, discussing the fact his computer was totally messed up (actually, I was trying to fix it from what, 2000 miles away, but didn't succeed), and what comes running at me from the other side of the room? A MOUSE.

Just an FYI—the cartoons have it right. My first reaction was to shriek and jump up in the chair.

The mouse fled. I probably scared the bejeezus out of it. I'm sure it went back to all the other mice and told them about this crazy lady in the purple house (yes, my house is purple. Did I ever mention that?)

Anyway, Marcos thought I was being knifed. I was that loud. I am not kidding--when I scream...I SCREAM.

I just don’t like mice. They skitter. I can’t take skittering,

Now, I have to kill the little beast. This is where I need a boyfriend. Some brave guy to come in and clear the house of little beasties that make me scream and jump into chairs.

Men. Where are they when you need them!