It is two o’clock on Thursday morning and I came inside to finally head to bed, but first, I must partake in the usual bathroom activities before bedtime. You know, to rinse my mouth with the alcohol-free mouthwash so my new Monroe piercing does not get infected. Oh, and to brush my teeth, of course. Needless to say, as I sat there, er, um, brushing my teeth, I heard a little scraping noise. My first thought was “What the hell is that?” I listened carefully to see if the sound would continue. It did. My second thought: “Is there a mouse in here?” I have never seen a mouse, or the remnants of a mouse, in my house.
I proceeded to locate exactly where the noise was coming from, by crouching down in front of the sink. It sounded like it was either coming from within the wall, from behind the small wicker trashcan, or in said small wicker trashcan. I listened for a while longer, to see if I could determine what variety of creature I would be dealing with. I finally determined that the sound was coming from within the trashcan, but still had no clue as to what was making said sound. It is two in the morning and I am dressed for bed, which means I am not wearing a whole heck of a lot, and I certainly do not want to be fending off some creature in my birthday suit.
What’s a woman to do?
Well, I did what any normal married woman would do, I walked right back into the bedroom and woke my husband from a dead sleep by saying, “Honey, there’s something in the bathroom making noise.” He half-turned in the bed with a loud “Huh?” I then repeated myself, “There’s something in the bathroom, making noise.” He sat up in bed, stood slowly, groggily, and walked over to the bathroom. He then proceeded to lean against the doorjamb, listening intently to the situation. I whispered, “Do you hear it?” and he replied with a sleepy nod of his head. He stepped into the bathroom after that.
Now, my husband is a very large man, and I have to wonder at times exactly what magical forces work within the bathroom to allow him to fit into such a tiny space. Nevertheless, he was now leaning against the sink and listening to the small wicker trashcan. He tapped it a few times, and yet, the noise continued. He pulled it out a bit to make sure there was nothing behind the trashcan. Yep, nada. He quickly and carefully flipped up each side of the Wal-Mart bag I use to line the trashcan and then tied it closed. Then he pulled the bag out, held it an arm’s length away from him, and walked out of the bedroom wearing nothing but boxers, which I found odd and hilarious because he never leaves the bedroom in such revealing attire. I heard the front door open while I inspected the bathroom and relined the wastebasket with another Wal-Mart bag.
Finally finished with my bathroom activities, I climbed into bed next to my husband.
“Thank you, my knight in shining baldness,” I said to him while situating myself under the covers.
“Wow, that’s deep,” he replied.
I still have no clue as to what creature lay within the trash, scraping softly, possibly trying to escape the confines of it. I figured my husband carried the little bag all the way out to the trash bin on the other side of the house, but when I told my mother the next day what had happened, she mentioned a small bag sitting just outside the front door. Wonderful, the creature could have escaped to come back and haunt me another day.