I lived in Texas most of my life. In Texas, especially if you live where there are any trees, there are roaches. Big (2 inches long or longer) gross roaches. I do not like them. Even though roaches get a bad rap as being associated with filth, while you can control them, no home is totally immune to them. As much as I have always hated them, I was always thankful that in Houston we didn't have to deal with mice. I wasn't sure I could deal with mice.
I was wrong. A woman doesn't know what she's made of until confronted with reality. We now live in a country-ish setting in Connecticut. There are mice here. In the first month that we lived here, our dog caught one in the front yard! I won't go into the details, but last year about this time we saw a couple of the little critters. They are little. And kind of cute. In fact, in all honesty, they aren't much bigger than the roaches. At that time we signed on with the quarterly service of pest control so that I could remain ignorant and feel safe. Other than seeing a dead one in the garage last month, the pest control seemed to be working. Last week I saw some, uh, evidence that it was not working. The service call was scheduled for later that week, so I wasn't too worried about it. So, now I go back to my blind faith that the pest control will work and I try not to think about it.
I could have titled this post You Might not Want to Come over When I Invite You for Dinner as a sequel to You Might not Want to Invite me to Dinner, but I think that my northern and/or country friends will back me up here. It's just the way it is.