So lest you think our lives here in Amsterdam are all cheap peonies and adorable apartments, let me fill you in on the not-so-glamorous side of European living (and the thing that made me consider calling KC and saying, “Well, Prim and I are on the way to the airport. I set fire to the apartment. It was the only option.”)

Two days after moving into our new place, I opened a drawer in the kitchen to find a mouse. Not a dead one, mind you, he was very much alive. I jumped back in horror and then did what any sane person would do — I grabbed Prim, called my mom, and then very calmly proceeded to lose my shit.

KC thought the whole thing was hilarious (he was at work at the time), and after talking to a few coworkers found out that mice are extremely common here in Amsterdam (yay…) I did manage to keep it together while Prim was awake, but after she went to bed that night I went into a spiral of “This place is a hell hole we have to get out immediately I should probably just take Prim and move back to America and KC can just finish out his work here or maybe we can just burn this apartment to the ground.”

Because I’m super calm and rational, obviously.

Mice, while tiny and kind of adorable, are not as awesome as Disney films would have you believe. I’d like to say that I made peace with the critters and have given them adorable nicknames like Alexander and the Wind-Up Mouse and we sing together and they help me with cleaning, but no — I continue to be horrified by their existence and now am convinced that every tiny noise is a hoard of mice coming to invade my space and seek revenge.

I did manage to find mouse traps (at the local pet store here, go figure), which are both cheap and effective — they’re just the old wooden snap-trap kind. Peanut butter is apparently the current mouse-delicacy du jour, so we have an assortment of peanut-buttered traps all over the main floor of the apartment. So far we’ve caught four mice (and by “caught” I mean that these suckers had a swift and decisive end, because I’m not about to pretend that I’m some animal rights activist who’s going to humanely catch and relocate some mice). And thank God that KC is willing to do all the work associated with these beasts, because I just can’t. (I buy the traps, he does the rest and I don’t have to see any of it. Reason #84723 I love him.)

The good news is we’ve gone almost a week now without catching any mice or seeing any evidence of their existence, so I’m hoping that their reign of terror is officially over. I swear to God though, if I see or catch yet another one I’m gonna name that sucker Donald Trump because it’s like the nightmare that won’t end.

Ugh, is it on me? I feel like it’s on me.