The other night, late as usual, I crawled into bed next to my husband. The room was dark and his rhythmic breathing filled the silence of the room. Getting cosy down under the covers, I sighed. Fresh sheets, mmmmm, my favourite. Stretching out, settling in.

Then I felt it.

Towards the bottom corner of my side of the bed there was a lump. It nudged against my calf muscle. Squishy but unrelenting. Oh my gaaawd, I thought. It’s probably a mouse. I’m under attack by a bed crawling mouse. Oh no, oh no. OH NOOOOO. My extreme fear of mice may have impacted this thought process.

In the dark I imagined it eating me alive until it occurred to me it wasn’t moving. the idea of a dead mouse being in my bed was only slightly more comforting. Pressing myself flat against the back of my still sleeping Hubby I nudged the lump with my toes.

Take that dead mouse, I thought. You don’t control me. I nudged it a little more and it occurred to me it wasn’t mouse shaped at all. It was much to wide and large for a mouse. Holy COW. Not a rat, surely!? {Important to note at this point that NO, I don’t live in a rodent infested home. I’m much too terrified of rodents to allow that!} So I woke Hubby. There’s something down there, I said. Under the sheet.

It’s probably jocks or socks, he said. 

Oh. Right. That’ll be it. I admitted kind of sheepishly. 

Go back to sleep, he said. 

So I went to sleep. Wrapped around him on his side of the bed, of course, far far away from the possible rodent but probably sock at the bottom of my side of the bed. I drifted off to sleep thinking, people really were to quick to judge that princess with the pea lady. Stuff in your bed is creepyyyyyyyyy.

Oh yeah. Thanks Nat. It was a sock. I checked in the light of day, of course. I’m not crazy!