It was Sunday afternoon.  My kids had ransacked my house and I was too drained to do anything about it.  I needed a break.  They needed a distraction.  We needed ice cream.

We all piled into the car and set out.  I got to the bottom of my driveway when I realized that I had forgotten to check the mail yesterday.  I was expecting a good sized paycheck from my anatomy tutoring gig, so I threw the car in park and ran out to the mailbox.

*Pertinent Side Note: My mailbox is currently held together with duct tape because some drunk asshole kid smashed it a few weeks ago.  It had almost completely fallen apart at every seam and I NEED to get off my lazy ass and get a new one.*

I eagerly approached the mailbox, anticipating that soul satisfying feeling of a paycheck that isn't immediately 100% gone before you even get it.  My hand opened the door and then drew back abruptly. My skin went white and cold.

As soon as I opened the door, I was greeted by a rats' nest made of hay, hair, mud, and what I can only assume is insulation from MY house, perfectly tall and round, and filled to the brim with nearly naked baby rats.  It took me a moment to figure out what I was looking at.  The flashbulb of realization must have startled the critters because they came flying out of the numerous openings of the mailbox and sailed to the ground.  A majority of them took the path of least resistance: the front door which I was standing in front of.  Not a one of them hit me, I'm happy to report, but it's friggin' creepy as hell none the less!

Now that the frenzied evacuation had passed, I peeked back into the mailbox to see that my paycheck was indeed nestled under the rats' nest.  Shit.  I no longer care at this point.  I have had my fill of rats and their nests for the moment.  I slathered myself in hand sanitizer and we headed off to get our ice cream.  One peach cobbler sundae later, I had gathered up the courage to get the nest out of the mailbox and retrieve my paycheck.  But how? 

Not the broom I use to sweep my floors where my kids play.  A stick might tear it and make an even worse mess.  Plus, it was dark and I had 3 kids waiting in the car.  Then it struck me.  My ex had left a baseball bat in the trunk of the car. Bingo!

I began by lightly tapping on the outside of the mailbox with the bat.  Hopefully this would scare off any rodents who decided to come home.  Nothing.  Not a single scurrying soul.  I tapped a little harder.  Nada.  I gave it mailbox a good thunk......

While I expected to hear little scuffling paws, I heard a rough voice saying, "DROP THE BAT!!!"

A sheriff deputy had passed by, seen me standing over a mailbox with a bat, and decided that he had lucked into an easy arrest.  It took me forever to explain the situation to him, especially because in trying to prove that this was indeed my mailbox, I had to show him my driver's license which (of-fucking-course) does not list this address.  Long story short, he asked if I had any other way of verifying my residence and I told him to check the mailbox.  I told him there was a paycheck with my name and this address on it in there..........