Humane only goes so far

The mice avoided the humane traps until I went away for a week. I will leave it to the reader to guess how I found this out.

In which I act like a 1950's housewife

I live in an apartment complex that was built in the 1930s. Hardwood floors, actual plaster walls, carved wooden window frames...it's pretty nice. It's even got a hint of ancient DC celebrity: Eleanor Roosevelt presided at the complex's opening. But unfortunately, old buildings tend to attract a certain kind of tenant, of the freeloading, fertile, and furry variety. Yep, I gots mice.

For a while this was just a suspicion, a hint of scurrying in the ceiling, but on Monday I came home in time to see a little gray blur go shooting under my oven. Oh ho ho, visible mouseage is NOT ON. The maintenance people vowed to send the exterminator over later this week. In the meantime, while I was at work, they let themselves in, leaving a cryptic service note: "Set some trap." They did not mention where, exactly, the trap or traps was/were, so I saw the obvious one, a blessedly empty glue trap, figured that that was it, and started to fix dinner.

Wait, is the ceiling fan squeaking?

No, the fan's off.

Oh fuck. I missed a trap, didn't I.

I'm not going to delve into detail about what was involved in the rest of the proceedings, except that I would rather not go through the whole thing again. Dear mice: We can reach a rapprochement here. Don't show yourselves, don't eat my food, don't poop where I can find it. In return, I promise not to set traps. Otherwise I will be forced to repeat L'Affaire de Tuesday Night, which is, I will grant, substantially more unpleasant for you than for me. I appreciate this frank discussion.

Today the universe seems to be trying to compensate for the evening of squeam. First, someone sent me the link to the Unicorn Museum. A museum! Of unicorns! Both my inner child and my not-very-inner snarky intellectual are tickled. Second, during lunch, I saw a blue Mini Cooper with the inspired license plate PICT. Woad is me: Nobody else on the crowded street seemed to get the joke.

Arteries of darkness

Just when you think that the Scots have a lock on the title for food most likely to be eaten on a dare, along comes Pizza Hut Japan, chanting, "One deep dish to bring them all and in the coronary 'event' bind them." Because a sausage-and-cheese pizza isn't greasy and salty enough, you need a crust made of pigs in blankets! With miniature hamburgers as topping! And choice of tomato-based or maple syrup dipping sauce! Oh, and it's got some nominal vegetables, which are crying out in fear because they are so very, very alone.

I'm no stranger to the joys of a deep-fried Milky Way or sticky toffee pudding with clotted cream, both of which are delicious reminders of how lipids and sugar make our caveman tastebuds stand up and sing. But there are limits.