Of mice and men

I don't know what would possess a man to set a mouse trap and then not sit there, staring at said trap, until the mouse in question shows up for her demise? And this not being just any mouse but a mouse brazen enough to run right past the Good Doctor, myself and Victor, while we were sitting at the dining room table. Victor! Remember, this child is not quiet nor does he sit still. The mouse just ran right on past us as if we were the ones interrupting his dinner party.

What would possess a man to think that I would enjoy finding said mouse once this has all transpired?

What would possess a man to think that I would want to dispose of said mouse?

No, I am not a feminist. And no, I don't have a problem with gender roles in the home. Obviously. The Good Doctor's role is to catch mice and dispose of them, before I see them, and without speaking of such activities. My role is to put the mac and cheese in the crock pot for supper. Which is what I was doing when I just happened to look down and found not just a mouse trap at my feet but a mouse trap with a (horrors!) mouse attached. How on earth was I to continue at that point?

Thankfully I found a way.

And I know what all of you feminists are asking, "How would she handle life if she didn't have a husband?"

Well, guess what? Why do you think I have so many children? At least one of them will likely stay in the area and at least one of them will not have a problem setting traps and watching for their success so they can dispose of the whole business before I have to make the mac and cheese. For the children.

Right?