Broom or a mop. Makes no difference now...
The problem Tyler faced after knocking the spaghetti sauce jar onto the floor wasn’t a particularly difficult one but one of logistics. Of course, doing it at five in the morning presented another set of challenges. What really surprised him was the lack of response or movement from the family.
Normally, because of the layout of the house, anything done in the kitchen was exaggerated and amplified in one room of the house, their bedroom. At the very least, Gloria should’ve poked her head around the corner and asked if everything was all right in the kitchen, but she was still comatose from her monthly Ladies Night Out.
With spaghetti sauce all over the floor near the pantry, the broken jar was in at least 2000 pieces mixed in with the sauce. Tyler certainly wasn’t ready for something like this so early in the morning. Coffee hadn’t even started to brew and he hadn’t jumped into the shower yet. But now he needed a plan to clean up the mess.
It wasn’t as easy as mopping or sweeping it up. If it was only glass or only sauce, those would be easy to manage, but a combined sharp-solid, red-liquid mess presented a challenge.
“Talk about your conundrums,” Tyler said exhaling big and closing his eyes to think through this problem at such a miserable hour.
Plus, Gloria would have a fit if he used her good broom on the sauce. But he had to get it cleaned up before the family started rousing because they often came to the kitchen in bare feet.
A plan was starting to form in Tyler’s mind. He went to the bedroom and put on his slippers so he wouldn’t be traipsing through the mess in his bare feet.
“Everything okay in there, Ty?” Gloria asked. “I heard a lot of banging going on.”
“Everything’s fine. Nothing I can’t handle myself,” Tyler said, bending over and kissing Gloria’s forehead.
“That’s nice,” said Gloria, probably not even remembering the interaction in a couple hours.
Tyler grabbed the roll of paper towels and pulled a garbage can to the closet. That way he’d be able to get 90 percent of the mess cleaned up before using any kind of broom or mop.
He froze when he saw tiny foot prints in the sauce.
“Footprints,” he thought. “Mice? Welp, let’s set out some tra…”
“Aaaaaeeeeeeeiiiiii!” yelled his wife.
When he got to the room, he swung open the door and the light was already on. He saw immediately what his wife had seen: tiny mice footprints in red sauce over their white bed spread. It was as if the mouse got into the sauce, carried a bit with him to the bedroom, and jumped on the bed to make tracks just to scare the Mrs.
Tyler would no doubt be waking up the exterminator before he hopped into the shower, hoping weekend and off-hour exterminators still existed.