Thursday, October 28, 2010

"Mice"

Back when I lived with my parents, I'd occasionally have roommates:  mice.  As such, I have a fair share of mice-related memories.  They've never grossed me out like bugs (especially roaches), but dealing with them was always emotionally problematic.  I probably have some mild form of PTSD from the mice I've had to deal with.  Do you like that euphemism, "deal with?"  I don't know where that's coming from.  Probably from all those mice I've had to kill.








4 comments:

  1. Your dad beat a mouse to death with a broom-handle the night before we went on that road trip.

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  2. No--I'm almost positive that's one of your weird composited memories/exaggerations. The real stories are: 1) We had a sleepover at my house once and there was a mouse in my room. Shrieking like girls, we managed to corner it, and I tried to smash it with a broom handle, but of course missed. And 2) a memory I don't want to go into that me and a mouse, but not my dad.

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  3. Oops--I meant to say "that involves me and a mouse, but not my dad."

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  4. I remember dealing with those mice too. For awhile there was a steady stream of them, until they found the hole behind the stove and plugged it up. I remember actually doing little mouse mercy-killings. It was like Reservoir Mice every night.

    Bobby

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