There comes a time in the life of every New Yorker where she has to face the inevitable...
In her apartment.
Crawling around in her trash, her food, her oven, God knows what.
That particular New Yorker has to travel to South Bend this weekend and will be gone until late Sunday night. She is more than slightly terrified that she'll come home to a whole slew of mice in every corner of every single room.
It's nights like this where that New Yorker wants nothing more than to move back to St Louis, where mice don't care so much for the suburbs where she lives, with her car and dishwasher.
So much for doing my Bible reading.
Or sleeping, for that matter.
Can I be invested already so I can get the hell out of here?