Yes, today started out with finding a mouse in my kitchen. It is not the first time we have had a mouse, and we usually go for long stretches in between sightings/catching and destroying them. The first time was when my parents were house/dog sitting for us while we were on our honeymoon. I came home to my mother informing me that one was dead in a mousetrap in the basement and she had left it there for me. House sitting duties do only extend so far.
Then I found mouse turds on my counters almost two years ago, and by then Cooper was in our lives, so we called the exterminator, who gave us those glue pads that are not poisonous but smell to die for (HA, get it?) if you are a mouse and they get stuck to them. We slid it under the stove where we believe the point of access is, and lo and behold, the next morning we had a mouse stuck to the pad. I put the whole thing in a bag, konked the mouse on the head with a heavy object, after apologizing to him/her and explaining that we would not have come to this juncture had he/she just stayed outside. Like John Cusack's character in Grosse Pointe Blank explaining that if you find him at your door (he was a hit man) it was because of something you did.
Last week we were sitting around in the evening, when all of a sudden the Schnauzers launched themselves off the couch from a dead sleep, dashed into the kitchen, then into the dining room in a mad, snarling frenzy. They were quite obviously chasing something but we never found what it was. So I took another sticky pad and put it under the stove. Days passed, no mouse, so I forgot about it. Until the morning, when Bob interrupted me while I was working out in the basement. The pad was moving, and there was a mouse attached to it. No, he was not touching it. Oh my brave hunter. I went upstairs, put the mouse and pad in a bag, and out to the garbage. After, of course, the obligatory apology and explanation of how this particular path he/she chose was his or her undoing.
But this post was really supposed to be a rant about bras. Brassieres. Over the shoulder boulder holders. I hate them. They are a necessary evil, since I am "blessed" and the ladies are very much in a different location than they were pre-Cooper. One of the joys of bearing children, regardless of age, is that your boobs look GREAT during the first two trimesters, then take on National Geographic proportions during the final trimester and during the nursing phase, if you go that route. But once weaning has taken place, there is deflation. And sagging. Nothing is where you had left it before the blessed experience of motherhood.
I am in need of new undergarments. Specifically, I need a nude colored, seamless bra that will make the girls look fabulous in the dress I have to wear in my friends' wedding. So I went to Macy's looking for a new beige bra. Do you know how many beige bras there are at Macy's? 765. WHY do we need that many choices??? And whoever, whomever, whatever, thought that lace on the booby was a good idea OBVIOUSLY never wears a bra. One word: ITCHY. And this is not a place one needs to be itchy. Itchy = CRANKY. Same with seams that cut across the front of the cup. Just stop the madness.
My foray into seeking a new bra has led me to the conclusion that I need to go for a fitting. An honest to goodness "measure me and tell me what size I really am" analysis. Because most days I end up pulling at the bra, the straps are always slipping down, I am being poked by underwires and even without lace by the end of the day the synthetic fiber is making me sweat and itch. That is SOOO attractive, isn't it.
I would like someone to build a better bra. One that doesn't bind, poke, itch or make me sweat and puts things in the general vacinity of their former glory. Is that too much to ask? If anyone out there has a recommendation of a really well built bra, do let me know.