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   I like to think of myself as an independent woman. Most of my friends would probably say I"m fiercely independent. Perhaps it was because I lived on my own for several years before meeting my husband, perhaps it's just my nature, but I don't need a "man" to do things for me.

I have no problem handling most things around the house. I can hang a picture, change a lightbulb, mow the lawn, kill spiders and take out the trash. I'd have no trouble trying to fix a broken sink (with the proper directions, of course) or changing a tire.  I've flown alone for years and have no trouble driving to other states alone or with my kids.  When Mike is out of town I generally handle both the traditional "man" and "woman" jobs just fine alone.  In fact, I generally have little patience for women who rely to heavily on the men in their lives.

But there are a couple of things that send me into a frenzy, needing a strong man to come and save me.

Mice are one of those things.

My cat had been acting very strange on Saturday morning, completely fixated on getting something under the chair in our living room. I moved things around a bit and saw nothing so I dismissed it.  A few minutes later I was moving a toy and a mouse ran within a few feet of me. Just thinking about it now gives me the shivers. Growing up in the county, we often got mice in our house.  You'd think that with my history and my rather rational nature I'd be able to handle a little mouse. But it's not so. I turn into a sreaming mess.  I stand on chairs and shreik like I'm 12.  Saturdays are Mike's day to sleep in (I get Sundays) and after weighing it for about 3.2 seconds I woke him up to deal with our furry friend. I felt bad but there was just literally no way I could handle it on my own. 

The next hour turned into something out of a comedy. Me standing on our coffee table with a swiffer broom in my hand trying to coax the mouse out from under the couch, Mike standing at the other end with a pot and a broom ready to pounce. The boys stood on the kitchen chair LOVING the entire thing. I think they thought it was the coolest thing ever.  After the mouse ran right past Mike while I screamed and under the door to the basement we then had to regroup, find the mouse again, set up barriers so it couldn't run again and me hiding (standing on the couch, of course, in case the little bugger came at me).

Needless to say, the mouse has gone to the big piece of cheese in the sky and my strong, wonderful husband handled the entire situation.

Thank god Mike had just returned from his trip the day before, I have absolutely NO IDEA what I woudl have done if he had been out of town. I think I would have had to move out for a few days. There is just no way, absolutely no way, I could have killed a mouse on my own.  The thought of it paralyzes me with fear.

I think it was good for our marriage, actually. For me to "need" Mike, to have him be my knight in shining armour. I don't often need rescuing but it's so nice to have him there when I do. 

I was telling my neighbor the story and I said "I acted like a total girl" and she said 'But Heather, you ARE a girl". 

Maybe I should try being a girl more often. It was nice to be rescued.

So what do you need rescuing from? What's your weakness?

Edited to say I was going to put a picture of a mouse in the post and I can't even do it. Just looking at pictures is making my heart beat fast.  I'm going to have nightmares tonight.

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