Ray Charles and the glove box...

Hello world!  I am writing today to share with you a story of a time when I was living in the San Francisco Bay Area for culinary school.  I was there for 6 months while Mike stayed behind in Portland for work.  I LOVED the school and needless to say that the time spent in Sonoma county was an amazing, life enriching experience.  I lived with a very interesting family, worked at Whole Foods Market, and had many an adventure.  The only one that really stands out in my mind at this moment involves the weather there.  You see, in the winter in the bay area, there is LOTS of rain and this particular year it caused some mudslides closer to the Russian River.  In regard to this, lots of little varmints like squirrels, possums, rats and mice are forced to abandon their otherwise dry and safe homes for higher ground.  Well, a common theme in my life is looking like an easy target, and this is no exception.  As I hopped in my little Honda Accord station wagon one day on my way to class, I stopped at the first red light and thought I would take that opportunity to fire up some tunes for the drive.   Ah yes, there's nothing like a little Ray Charles as you drive through the beautiful wine country.  All I needed was the face to my stereo out of the glove box.  I opened the glove box while random folks waiting on the corner to cross the street glanced at me, and AAAAUUUUUUGGGGHHHH!!!!  A MOUSE NEST!!!  I screamed as loud as possible, assuring that no one on the corner missed it, slammed the glove box as they all stared in amazement and confusion, and the light changed.....I drove away.  Now I'm sure that to this day, those folks have a story to tell their grandchildren, but they can tell them any number of things that they suspect I found in the glove box.  With the way I screamed, it could have even been a body part or something similar.  Well, I drove on to school, mortified, mind racing...'oh god, he's in here somewhere', I thought.  I called my friend Tressie, my husband Mike, and my father, begging them all for help in a panicky state.  They all laughed and said that because of our distance, they could be of no help....perfect!  Over the course of the next week, I set traps in the car which caught nothing, drove ONLY with my pants tucked into my socks, and suddenly became a fanatic about keeping my car as clean as possible (Mice REALLY like kleenex apparantly).  Eventually, he (Harvey I liked to call him) moved out I suppose because the nests stopped being rebuilt and I stopped finding mouse poop.  However, to this day, I will NEVER open my glove box with the same level of ease and comfort I once knew in my youth.  Ah... those days of innocent naivety...