Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Confession: I murdered Ernie. May he RIP.

It's been a hectic few weeks here in Laura Land.

The move is getting closer.

And thank you God for that, because this damn mouse plague is getting worse!

I thought I would tackle the kids room the other day. They have an interconnecting wardrobe, Mousie, Wommy and Schnorbie, and due to a severe lack of storage in this house and  for the sake of us ever getting any sleep we filled it with crap super important stuff that had to be kept but had no home yet, and put the book shelves on either side.

Last week was the first time in 2 years that I opened that cupboard back up.

Looking through the boxes was like finding treasure! Memories of a house with 5 bedrooms where all these now packed away jewels had a place.

Schnorbies gorgeous uber girlie things that she couldn't have out here because she shared a room with a pesky baby brother. And as you know, pesky baby brothers and beautiful breakable things just don't mix. To save the tears and heart ache, they stayed in the boxes they arrived here in.

I was getting so excited going through them, doing happy dances, singing, all that shit, because while the mice have ruined pretty much the rest of my life, they hadn't seemed to have found the treasure boxes!

Then I opened the last box. The one on the bottom of the pile.

Oh man, the stench!

At this point I would like to say that I didn't open the box because the smell was too bad, and being the clever person that I am, I simply got rid of it.

But I think that part of my clever is again lost somewhere with my algebra brain. Where all the clever things go.

So I opened it. To see what I was about to lose, or what I could salvage.

I kid you not, in that box amongst the barbies with now matted hair, and the ken doll that took us so long to find in the shops, and the teddy bear that Schnorbies GREAT grandfather gave her the day she was born, was at least 15 mice. Dead. Stinking. Mice.

I took the box straight down the back to the fire drum that I had prepared earlier, all gloved up, and started throwing. The clever part of my brain would have just thrown the box in without looking at the rest of it's contents. But again, it's with Algebra.

So I stood there. Throwing in mouse ridden item after mouse ridden item.

Then I found Ernie.

Ernie was given the my babiest sister when she was little. She is now 17. He talks and sings and snores, and used to scare the shit out of us in the middle of the night when he would randomly start singing twinkle little star. In fact, I do think he may have been possessed.

Anyway, I kinda loved him, and when babiest sister grew up a little, I stole him for Schnorb.

To see him laying there like that, eaten alive... I have no words.

With much sadness, I threw him into the fire bucket. Feeling like all my childhood memories with my sisters was about to go up in smoke. Does anyone else hold their memories in an object or am I the only loopy one?

As he landed he decided to really rub it in, and bring out his finest quote, so through the smoke and flames I hear the little sesame street voice say 'I feel great'.

Way to make me feel like a murderer Ernie!

I called my best friend in tears. Looking for much needed sympathy. He didn't get it. And was really lacking in the sympathy part. He had never lost any of his pal's, and was more of a transformers kinda dude anyway, so didn't understand the sheer heartache of losing a Sesame Street mate.

I bumbled my way back to the house, through tears and sobs, and thought about the best way I could break this sad news to my family. The death of a loved one is never easy after all. Appropriately I chose Facebook. They were Devo'd.


I feel OK talking about this now that I have done my grieving. Am no longer mourning and am out of wearing black.  I know it's going to be hard for a little while yet, but I am trying to focus on the good times we had together, and reminding myself that it was the kindest thing I could have done for him. A true act of friendship.

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