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dynamite_ladyI packed some books today. That isn't the main point of this story, but it's the starting point. I decided to pack the books that I had out, so I could get other ones out and sort through them. I have a lot of books. Hence, I ran out of plastic boxes of the right size. (part of the reason I'm ok with repacking some is that they are in massive boxes I have trouble lifting) I had my soft toys in a plastic box of the right size. They were in such a box because the estate agent in Stirling said they should be packed away early on for viewings, so they needed to be in something stackable. They don't need to be in a small plastic box for this move, so I unpacked them. Here's where it gets nasty.
Our spare bedroom in Stirling used to be prone to infestations of small brown insects, of the 'oh thank f*ck they're not mouse turds' variety. I never saw a live one, but every time I cleaned that room over the summer I'd be sweeping up dead ones. I have no idea where the live ones lived. I'm not sure I want to know.
So, I lifted the lid of the plastic box, and noticed that the topmost duck had a few insects on. Yuck, and how did I not notice when packing them? Probably because I did it in a hurry before the next viewing. Then I noticed more insects. Every plush critter in that box needed a few insects brushing off. Thankfully none of them were damaged, but I was getting a bit phased. Then I came to the fluffy yellow duck with a (thankfully detachable, you'll see why in a minute) lavender scented heat pack in a pouch. I brushed the insects off. I remembered the pouch. I realised, urgh urgh urgh, that the heat pack was the likely source of the insects. The heat pack is in the bin. The duck has been annointed with citrus oil. My hands have been washed a whole lot. The plastic box has been splashed with cleaning spray and squirted with the shower. I had to talk to an estate agent on the phone in the middle of this. By 'talk' I mean stutter out my less-grossed-out-due-to-distance-from-scene partner's mobile number.
I guess 'I binned the heat pack' is probably quite a mild ending as horror films go, but the moment of discovery was pretty grim.
Our spare bedroom in Stirling used to be prone to infestations of small brown insects, of the 'oh thank f*ck they're not mouse turds' variety. I never saw a live one, but every time I cleaned that room over the summer I'd be sweeping up dead ones. I have no idea where the live ones lived. I'm not sure I want to know.
So, I lifted the lid of the plastic box, and noticed that the topmost duck had a few insects on. Yuck, and how did I not notice when packing them? Probably because I did it in a hurry before the next viewing. Then I noticed more insects. Every plush critter in that box needed a few insects brushing off. Thankfully none of them were damaged, but I was getting a bit phased. Then I came to the fluffy yellow duck with a (thankfully detachable, you'll see why in a minute) lavender scented heat pack in a pouch. I brushed the insects off. I remembered the pouch. I realised, urgh urgh urgh, that the heat pack was the likely source of the insects. The heat pack is in the bin. The duck has been annointed with citrus oil. My hands have been washed a whole lot. The plastic box has been splashed with cleaning spray and squirted with the shower. I had to talk to an estate agent on the phone in the middle of this. By 'talk' I mean stutter out my less-grossed-out-due-to-distance-from-scene partner's mobile number.
I guess 'I binned the heat pack' is probably quite a mild ending as horror films go, but the moment of discovery was pretty grim.