because no one should see their fiance jump on the bed and scream like a girl. story 2 of 3.

via


awhile back i told you how the big apple is more of a bad apple. well here the saga continues and it starts with a squeak.


much to the carpet-stained-dismay of my mother, annoyed-inconvenience of former roommates, and head-shaking confusion of my fiance (although his is more of a "why do you wear make up at all, you're naturally beautiful..." misunderstanding. and yes, i know, he's a keeper.) i put on makeup on sitting on the floor, more often than not, in the middle of the living room.

and the only floor space available in previously discussed one bedroom apartment in this particular fourth floor walk up which we resided in, was right next to the radiator and its "charming" pre-(civil war)-cover. one day it squeaked.


"old heating systems make quite the racket," i thought to myself.

the next day it squeaked again, but that squeak was later accompanied by scratching in the walls while we slept. and i knew an old heating system wasn't to blame. but i was in denial. i mean who wants to admit that they live in an apartment with cockroaches AND mice. not me. until one day i couldn't ignore it anymore.

thats the day my fiance woke me up by running in to the bedroom, jumping up on the bed, screaming like a girl..."THERES A MOUSE IN OUR APARTMENT."


"nooooo," i said as i sleepily crept in to the living room where i learned that i move remarkably fast and jump incredibly high because i saw that mouse too ( the little bugger ran right behind my conveniently located (makeup) mirror knocking over a few things hidden behind it on the way and scurried right behind our couch) and i jumped right up on top of a bar stool where i (more acceptably) screamed like a girl. "GET OUT HERE AND GET IT. EW EW EW!"


and the next ten minutes was filled with scuffling of one rather tall man, one tiny mouse, one incredible small living room, and roughly nine million objects hidden behind our couch (and hey, before you start calling me a hoarder remember, the apartment was small.really really small. i'd store things wherever i could.) oh right, and me yelling "THERE HE IS. GET HIM. GET HIM!"


once the mouse was back in his hole, the radiator cover nailed to the wall, and anything the mouse may have possibly touched (blankets, a yoga mat, hairspray...) tossed into the garbage we headed outside to convince ourselves living in new york has its benefits (like the homeless lady who always sat outside our apartment or the fresh scent of garbage that lines the streets on a sunday morning).


strike two.