We laid in bed this morning at 4:00 A.M., listening to the sound of mice scratching the ceiling. It's like the millionth time we've been awoken by the soundthatissoannoyingbecausewecan'tdoanythingaboutit. Which is why I feel it's important to insert humor into a situation that is no longer funny in any way.
Husband: Those mice can go to hell.
Me: Why can't they go to heaven?
Husband: Because they are evil, devil mice that want to scratch through the ceiling.
Me: Maybe they aren't scratching. Maybe that sound is them rearranging their little, tiny mouse furniture.
Husband: Trust me, I've been up there and the last thing they've doing is something involving little, tiny furniture. There's no furniture. Only mouse poop and my tears.