I Know the Hamster is Dead

Yes, the kids went out of town and their pet hamster died. I am currently a live-in-nanny, and although pet life support is outside of nanny jurisdiction, I did feel a little bad. Their dad was supposed to taking care of it, but this post is not about their hamster dying.

I inherited  my mother’s OCD tendencies, and I run a tight ship, especially in the cheese department. The cheese is sealed in a air-tight container and pre-cut into very square pieces. I know how square they used to be, because when I cut them, if a corner crumbled, I would cut it into a rectangle and eat half.

You can imagine how horrified I was to find teeth marks in the corner of the top square of cheese.

The father and the son were the only ones in the house, and I know it wasn’t the son because all he eats in junk food. It certainly was not the hamster, which means it was a grown man who bit into a piece of cheese, and put it back into the container.

I previously had to approach him on a similar subject. I had asked him about the half dozen gnawed off strawberry tops that went back into the fridge with the other strawberries.

His response was that I am a difficult person to live with.

I know, just ask the hamster.

Not a lot of things genuinely make me queasy…

Not a lot of things genuinely make me queasy…

 

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