Nothing like a rush of adrenaline at 11 p.m.

Yesterday we returned home after 5 days up-island in Parksville. Job number one was hanging out with Kiddo who had stayed with her Nana while we were away; this involved going out to see Fred Claus (better than I had expected) followed by dinner out (ABC Country Restaurant. Nothing special). When we came home she bathed and went to bed, then we settled in to relax for a bit. We caught up on email and the shows we hadn't watched while away and then I set to unpacking a few things and putting the house back in order.

We still had Halloween decorations up, so I started to gather the fake cobwebs and stuff, but then I realized we needed to bring in the kitchen garbage can. As usual, we had taken the garbage can outside before we left town; Hubby had hosed it down and left it on the deck to air out. Just after 11, I went out, grabbed it and brought it inside, then thought I should double check that it wasn't full of leaves or anything, since it had been windy. I opened the lid and immediately dropped the can, and yelped.

Hubby thought I had injured myself again and was trying to decide whether he needed to call 911, but I managed to get out the following:

"Take it back out! There is a DEAD MOUSE inside."

Eeeewwwwwwww!!! To be clear, only having seen a live mouse would have been worse for me. I HATE mice. I turn into a fifties housewife, sometimes literally standing on chairs, screaming; often crossing rooms in half the number of steps physically required.

While Hubby isn't any more fond of little rodents, he kindly dealt with the issue after basically sending me to our room to calm down, but we were both pretty freaked out for the following hour. Even writing this down, I find myself completely creeped out by the whole thing.

Bleah.