Working with the Hubby and the Mouse

After the hubby retired, he started his own small painting company. It didn't take long to discover that it's good for one of us to work outside the home, and after a flip of a coin, he was chosen. Of course, I didn't tell him that I had a two-headed coin.

On occasion he has jobs where I assist in assorted ways, mostly in a "hand me this" and "go get me that" manner. I really don't mind helping him. The only real problem we have is when he tries to tell me what to do. For some odd reason, he thinks because it's his company, he's the boss. That's usually when I remind him I'm the CEO.

Recently, the hubby had a small job out of town in a business office. Since the owners wanted it to be done during non-working hours, this meant traveling to the job and returning home late at night. My part of the job was to go along and drive him and his co-worker back home so they could sleep on the way back. That was fine with me since driving is one of those things I do pretty well. The plan was for me to catch a catnap in the truck while they were inside working.

We decided to take the SUV simply because it could hold the supplies, and it would be more comfortable than riding in the pickup. The hubby loaded everything needed into the back, and we took off. About a mile down the highway, I noticed him squirming in the passenger seat. He obviously was swatting at something, and my first thought, oh, great, something must have flown in through his open window.

"It's a mouse," he said as he moved stuff around.

"A mouse?" I didn't like the sound of that. "Should I pull over?" I said as I looked around anxiously. Sorry to you PETA people, but I don't like mice. In fact, I have a strong aversion to anything small, hairy and creepy. I'm not even crazy about people who fit that description.

"No. Keep going. When we stop, we'll check and see if we can find him." Well, wasn't that just dandy. Did he really expect me to take a nap with that varmint roaming around? I don't think so.

I guess everyone has premonitions sometimes, and I had one about three miles down the road that I was going to see that mouse again. I just hoped it wasn't when I was driving down the interstate in a few minutes doing 70 miles per hour.

It didn't take that long, though, because as I glanced down at my leg, here he come. For some reason, he chose the moment when we were meeting two cars and behind another one to make a run for it up my leg. "Aaaahhhh!!! There he is," I screamed at the hubby. I threw my hands up in the air as he made a dash across my lap.

"Keep your eyes on the road!" the hubby hollered with a look of panic on his face.

"Get him off! Get him off!"

"Watch what you're doing!"

"Get him off! Get him off!"

"Watch the traffic!"

As much as I would like to say my panic subsided and I handled the situation with finesse, I can't because as I was slapping frantically at the mouse coming up toward my face, the hairy varmint saw my open window, jumped on my arm and flew out the window. I'm not sure whether he saw an opening and made a run for it, or whether my screaming caused him to attempt suicide. I really don't care. The mouse was gone, we didn't collide with the other cars, and the hubby finally breathed again.

"That'll teach him," I said and smiled confidently at the hubby. He just looked at me. I've seen that frustrated look before. In fact, I've seen it a good many times in 40 years. It's the same look he gets when I serve him a new recipe, sort of like he doesn't quite trust me. Sometimes I think he worries too much. After all, it all worked out. I figure that's really all that counts.