The crime scene:
Note 1: Contact case on counter (complete with contacts)
Note 2: Burts Bees Handcream (which has nothing to do with this, but it has magical dry skin
healing powers that I thought you should know about.)
Sure, he may look harmless enough at first glance, but trust me, at 5AM when you happen to wander into your bathroom, the world a blur because your contacts are still on the counter, splash water on your face, brush your teet, and turn around, this is the LAST thing you are expecting to see hiding in the corner.
The most disturbing part:
Apparently I'm not a screamer. No sound came out of my mouth. Sure, I gasped (think dramatic intake of breath that is barely audible), and jumped. And had he decided to talk at that very moment, I may have even passed out. Yes, I know, VERY courageous.
So all those times I made fun of people in the horror movies for not screaming or running have finally come back to haunt me. Apparently those are my kind of people. Who knew?
Apparently Mickey, that's who.
An overactive writer's imagination is definitely NOT to my advantage in this kind of situation. And because Mickey happens to work better on tile than carpet, this may not be the last time it happens, but atleast now I'm on alert. Nightly bathroom checks have been enforced and I've removed Mickey from the premises twice since the "incident".
Who needs horror when you have a toddler around?