Walk, walk, walking down memory lane.

February 8, 2009 at 11:41 pm (Uncategorized)

Instead of posting about the drama and confusion that is my life, I decided I will share my other rat story. (I told you I had more than one!)

So, Im a city girl. Grew up in San Diego, lived here all my life, except for my brief time testing out the south…and the country. I. do. not. like. the. country. Keep that in mind.

So, Im living in the south, and I meet a man. He was perfect blah blah blah (totally not gonna go into all THOSE details)…I move in with him. He lives in the country. Like, the kind of country where he lives on 15+ acres, complete with a small freaking lake in his yard…the town has a ‘volunteer’ fire department, a gas station and a tiny little corner store…if you want McDonalds, you are outta luck- hop in the car and take a road trip- kind of town. But it was ‘soooo cuuuuuute!’ I think to myself.

Until I was home alone one day.

All I know is, I hear animals. Like, surrounding me. Under the house, in the house, all over. I think they were having an animal circus. I cant leave, because if I get to the front porch, there are wild turkeys waiting for me! Not to mention the deer…and whatever else lives in the fricken boonies. This country thing was a bad idea.

I call him…”babe, I can hear something under the house. Its freaking me out.” He replies “dont be such a baby. its part of living in the country” <— yeah, he is as much help as my mother was in my recent animal fiasco.

So, he comes home that night, we’re sitting at the dinner table minding our own…when all of a sudden he looks at me and says “BABY. Dont. turn. around.” I look at my one year old who is sitting in his high chair, looking behind me, and WHIMPERING in fear. “Umm, what the hell is it?!” I ask. (I seriously think its either a thief, or a bear. I cant decide which)…He says “its nothing. Just keep eating, Ill be right back” as he gets up and LEAPS through the kitchen.

I still dont turn around.

I hear him go to the bedroom at the end of the house and slam the door. “THUD. THUD. THUD. CRASH. THUD. BOOOOM. THUD.”

I still dont know whats going on. Im just sitting there staring at the wall, trying not to move (in case he left me alone in the kitchen with a bear- you’re supposed to play dead, you know?) and trying to keep my child from having a heart attack. Then I hear the door open…

And there he is. The man I am planning to marry in 6 weeks…holding a dead rat (the size of a small dog, I might add) in his hand, by the tail, and screams “BABY! I GOT THIS MOTHER FUCKER’ as he is panting and practically foaming from the fricken mouth.

Really? Reeeeaaaaalllly?! I couldnt decide which was getting to me more, the fact that he just killed a rat in my BEDROOM (he told me later, by beating it on the floor, swinging it by the tail, and by beating it with his flashlight), or the fact that I actually cooked that night, which doesnt happen, and then none of us could eat.

All I know is that that just cemented my view on living in the country. I do not like living in the country.


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