So. The 18 year old found some friends, of the smallish rodent variety, in his apartment. Three mice to be exact. Now, he IS a boy, and we've had mice in our houses before, a couple times and he didn't seem to traumatized. However . . . .
Last night I was IM'ing him on Facebook, and I asked if they had seen anymore mice - here, I'm just gonna quote the conversation verbatim. Read it, it's pretty funny.
Me: Did you see anymore mice?
JB: I don't know.
Me: What do you mean you don't know? Any mouse poo?
JB: I don't know. I don't venture into the quarantine area.
Me: (chuckling) The quarantine area? Where is the quarantine area?
JB: My room.
Me: Where are you sleeping?
JB: The couch.
Me: Did you get your clothes out of your room?
JB: No, only a select few.
Me: Ok, you know mice can smoosh themselves flat enough to go underneath a door.
JB: Taken care of
JB: Hoodies rolled up along the edge of the door, smashed in with a large metal box.
Me: How long is the "quarantine" going to last?
JB: Until the PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) stops.
Me: LMAO - are you having flashbacks?
JB: IT'S NOT FUNNY!
Me: It's kinda funny! LMAO
JB: It's like you are making fun of a war veteran!
I'm sorry, I just thought this was hilarious. I'm still picturing my 18 year old son curled up in the corner of his couch with the computer actually having flashbacks about mice running across the floor and his cousin throwing a shoe at them, stunning them, and then beating the crap out of them. It is kinda funny, isn't it?