Yesterday I found a dead mouse in my washing machine. That's the 2nd one in 3 weeks for those of you keeping track.

(File photo. There is no mouse in this washer)
Fortunately I realized what it was before I touched it this time. (There is not water hot enough or anti-bacterial soap strong enough to feel clean, let me tell you.)
Of course, I did the first thing women do when they encounter dead things--they keep their curious children away and call their husbands .
"What would you do if I was away on a business trip, you're out of underwear and I'll be gone for 4 more days?" he asked, as if I hadn't already contemplated worse-case scenarios on my run up the stairs to the phone.
"Call our home teacher," I replied without the tiniest bit of hesitancy. Other possible options would be to go buy more underwear, go to a laundry mat, or buy a new washer and have the store haul off the mouse casket one. All of those things would happen before I would touch anything touching that mouse.
Justin wanted some sort of payback for taking care of another dead mouse (the first one's head had to be loosened from underneath the agitator). But since I shoveled his side of the driveway for the second day in a row and was visibly shaken, he just took care of it. He's really nice. Teases until he's nice, but nice in the end.
You missed out Bro. Smith, it could have been you.
One dead mouse in the washer can be a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence. Twice in one month is cause for outright fear every time I go down there and lift the lid.
I was afraid of live mice living in my washer and dryer before. I kept them closed all the time and still feared of interrupting animal FHE in there.
Irrational paranoia is one thing. Experiential paranoia is quite another. I don't know how long I can live like this.
***No, I don't know how they get in there and how they die. And yes, I run a load of hot water and Lysol before washing my clothes.***