My Job was to Scream like a Girl

The morning started off peacefully enough. I slept in, my husband slept in, the dogs slept in, one child got up quietly and the second child slept in. My husband gets up quietly and lets the dogs out and then all three come back to bed for a snuggle or two.

I get up and get ready for my day in a nice, slow, leisurely fashion. All is right in my world. As I walk through the living room on the way to the kitchen, I greet my middle child who is up and playing video games. I talked to the dogs as I start making breakfast. I talk to my husband as I get my medicine. My husband wanders off to talk to the child playing video games.

My breakfast is done and I wander slowly back towards the kitchen to put it together so I can sit down and eat. I stop in the doorway between the dining room and the kitchen. My breakfast is mere feet away. I am hungry. But . . .

Instead of continuing into the kitchen I back up to the living room and mention to my husband and my son that the dog and the cat have an animal in the kitchen and I want it gone. Both of these big, strapping, strong, hero type men look at me as if I were an idiot and go back to talking.

Then it hits me. My Job is to scream like a girl if I want big, strong, strapping, hero-type men to rescue me and remove the rather large, very alive, totally unwelcome animal from my kitchen so I can safely go get my breakfast.

So I scream like a girl. But just the facts. "There is an animal in my kitchen." This doesn't faze either of my hero-types. In fact, they don't even look up. Okay, I can possibly understand that because there are always animals in my kitchen. Perhaps I should be more specific.

"There is a live animal in my kitchen being chased by the dog and cat."

This also elicits no response from my would-be hero-types. Again, I think, perhaps I wasn't loud enough or specific enough to truly convey the situation properly.

So, very very loudly I announce, "There is a HUGE animal in my kitchen that doesn't belong in my house. It is alive. It is moving. I want it gone." This, I feel, has fully defined the situation. And it did cause these two, tarnished hero-types to at least stop talking.

So I scream like a girl, "It is HUGE. It is alive. It is moving. GET IT OUT OF MY HOUSE." My husband saunters in to see what the fuss is. I yell at the child to stop the game and help his dad remove the HUGE ALIVE animal.

The son comes to help his dad laugh at me. The dad hero directs his wee little son to capture the fierce huge animal while he stands between the animal and the exit. Chaos ensues.

When the animal is finally gone, they both razz me but I didn't see either of them doing much except try to get the other one to capture the animal.

What was the animal? A rodent slightly bigger than a guinea pig with large rodent teeth and a short tail.

Where is the animal? Gone - thrown out the door.

My Job was to scream like a girl and I did my job.