The Last Laugh

Rosie the Raccoon is gone, banished from our home by a man in a truck with a sweet looking raccoon painted on the side. She can never return (though I’m pretty sure she’s figured out she’s persona non grata), thanks to a steel cap that now adorns our chimney. And as I sat in the living room breathing a sigh of relief that our home was pest-free, a little black speck jumped onto my arm. Rosie may be gone, but she left fleas behind.

Roomie called me in a panic as I pulled into our driveway last night.

Roomie: “WE HAVE FLEAS!!!!”

Me: “Oooooh yeah. I saw one the other day and totally forgot to tell you.”

Roomie then proceed to inform me that I needed to go find home remedy flea stuff per his Google search while waiting for a call back from Terminix (Borax on the carpet, soapy water on tin foil underneath nightlights). So, I called my mom to find out what Borax is and then went off on my shopping expedition. Roomie tuxed up for a black tie gala; I hit Tar-jay. That evening pretty much sums up our social lives in a nice little microcosm.

Terminix blessedly returned Roomie’s call this morning, and I in turn received a serious e-mail from Roomie that we must follow Terminix’s strict instructions about why we need to vacuum every day. I’ll spare you the morbid details, but he closed his note with this: “So, can you vacuum this weekend? I know neither of us is very good at this, but I’ll do it next week.” I like how he acknowledges our respective ineptitude (mostly mine) when it comes to matters of the home. It figures that our cleaning lady was the one to blow the whistle on the fleas; it completely slipped my mind to mention it the other day! Good thing we’re there to take care of each other, complete with a team of professionals. We may not be able to tend to the house ourselves, but at least we know who to call.

Rosie, you better be glad I don’t know where to find you now!


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