I am Strong, I am Invincible

I am woman. Hear me roar.

Never again in my life will I let someone tell me, or even imply, that I “don’t have the chops”; that I’m not “tough”. Why? Because I know that I am tough and I DO, in fact, have “the chops”. How can I be sure? Well, as I’ve mentioned, in my house there exists a rat situation. I bought some rat traps, deciding that of all my options, they were the best. (Option 1. Most likely for success and least disgusting. Buy a cat. Why it wasn’t plausible: already have my hands full with one animal; am not prepared to treat it the way Dominican cats are treated; can’t bring it the US; can’t imagine leaving any animal behind. Option 2. Second most likely for success and slightly more disgusting. Rat poison called “Three Steps” because after eating this, illegal poison, the rats are only able to take 3 steps before they die. Why it wasn’t plausible: didn’t like the idea of putting rat poison in the house with pigeons cohabitating the rats’ living quarters and my puppy here in the house as well; tough to find rats once they’ve been killed up over the ceiling. Option 3. Third most likely for success and very disgusting. Rat traps of super sticky paper. Why it wasn’t plausible: requires some way for the rats to die once they’ve been trapped: suffocation, starvation, being bashed with a bat, etc. and I didn’t think I could bring myself to do it. And then, there would be the whole removing the rats from the super sticky paper which I was told requires ripping off their feet. Sheesh.) So we went with rat traps, which while they’re gross, they don’t require me to do procure an animal, they don’t risk poisoning the innocent and then going to look for dead bodies, and they don’t require me to do any killing.
Instead, all I had/have to do is bring the trap with its prisoner outdoors and lift up the little bar to release the prisoner to a grassy graveyard.

So three times I have now done this, and I think it proves I’m pretty f***ing tough. I could have gotten a muchacho to do it for me, as they took care of my wasp situation the other night (procuring blow torches by lighting sheets of Newsweek magazine on fire while pressing the button on a can of bug stuff like Raid. It was a huge blow-torch of fun for the boys and scariness for me, as I’d realized that my house is made largely of wood.) But I did not call a muchacho. I did it myself. I know plenty of males, the toughest of all, who I know haven’t yet had the pleasure of disposing of dead rats and if they were provided the opportunity to try it out, would pass if given the option. If you’re such a male, feel free to comment and boost my ego even higher after my great accomplishment.

Despite the title of this blog entry in no way did I mean this to be an entry about gender. Good heavens no. I merely felt incredible about my feats of daring and wished to share. I encourage individuals, both men and women, to try disposing of dead rats. It’s a rush you won’t believe ‘til you’ve tried it!




Haha… that’s not true even a little bit.