My husband and I stood in the drugstore aisle (me nine months pregnant), surrounded by premature Christmas decorations, contemplating the most humane way to commit murder. “Billy,” I screamed just fifteen minutes prior, “There's a mouse in the nursery!” Visibly relieved to learn the source of my upset did not necessitate him personally delivering his first child, he lovingly reassured me “Don’t worry, it’s just a field mouse; all we need to do is set a trap.”
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