Of Mice and Men

Dead animals make me gag.

I'm about to pull into the driveway, when I see it. A Giant Dead Mouse in the center of the driveway, on his back with his little legs in the air.

"Oh my God. Please take care of that," I tell the DNB.

"What's wrong?" he replies. From his angle, he can't see what I'm talking about. "Holy CRAP!" he shouts as soon as he spots it.

He walks over and examines it. He does a good job of hiding his fear that the Giant Dead Mouse is just playing dead, waiting for the right moment to strike as part of some sick mouse revolution. Yeah, I've read Redwall, those suckers can BATTLE. The DNB searches our neighbor's trash cans for something to move it with. Eventually he finds a Big Gulp cup. I cover my eyes because this is all SO DISGUSTING. I gag a little bit.

I hear the scraping sound as the DNB scoops the Giant Dead Mouse into the cup. I peek through my fingers as he carries it to the trash can. I shield my eyes for a few more seconds, until I figure it's safe. I lift my head to see the DNB, standing in front of me, WIGGLING THE EFFING GIANT DEAD MOUSE'S TAIL AT ME.

"Baaaaaaaaaaaabbyyyyyyyyyy!" I shriek in horror.

This is, apparently, the desired result, as his glee is evident.

"Man, that was a huge rat," he says as we walk into the house.

"RAT?" I shout. "I thought it was a Giant Dead Mouse!"

"Um, doubtful. Do you know of mice that weigh 2 lbs?"

"I've never seen a rat in real life before," I explain. Thinking about it again sends me to the kitchen sink, where I dry heave as the DNB taunts me.

"Did you see him shaking his money-maker at you?"

"Don't joke," I say sternly. "That's, like ...."

"Oh please tell me it's your worst fear," he replies.

"Well, yes. But I was going to say that it could be a message someone's trying to send us. Like a boar head in your bed or something."

"A horse head?" His tone tells me he can't believe we're having this conversation.

"Yeah, it's like a warning."

"I'm pretty sure it just crawled underneath your car and died."

"That was so gross," I say, shuddering. The DNB walks past me and puts his hand on my shoulder. "And don't try to be loving," I warn him.

"Oh, I'm not," he replies cheerfully. "I'm just wiping my Rat Hand on you."

It's My Birthday, so, Naturally.

I'm telling you it's my birthday because I would like lots of well-wishes and presents. But also because it makes what happens next so much more enjoyable.

So I'm basking in the glow of my birthday morning, made especially fantastic by the fact that I'm turning an even number, when Aikane starts making the tell-tale Dog About To Puke sounds.

We're sitting on the couch, which is on a carpet, so I scoop him up and race toward the kitchen and its ugly, old, eezie-klean linoleum. And here's where it gets foggy. Somehow, I end up stepping in a giant puddle of dog puke. It has chunks that look like ground beef in it, which makes me wonder for a minute where in the world he found ground beef, because we don't tend to leave it lying around on the floor, but he's a resourceful and scheming fellow, so we'll probably never know. And then he pukes down the leg of my pants.

It's at this point that I should tell you that my stomach is so weak that I once doused my baby brother in perfume before I could muster the strength to change his diaper. I'm also a sympathetic vomiter.

So the foot-in-dog-puke and the puke-down-my-leg is far, far too much. I drop the dog, who is still throwing up, and manage to get myself to the kitchen sink just as my dry heaving results in some quality puke of my own.

It's going to be a special, special day.