Apr 20, 2017

A little mousy

Before hopping (dragging) into the shower, I checked a few blogs.  Vera (The Threaded Lane) had a mouse encounter and it reminded me of an incident 50 years ago.
Do you remember the net hair covers we wore to mass?  Back then, you dressed nicely for church and never would be without a head cover of some sort.  Mantillas, doilies, whimsies.  Mom was dressed and ready first, opened the front door and bent over to pick up the Sunday paper.  Hanging on to the brick directly above the door was a mouse, which happened to lose its grip when the door brushed him.  He landed in the netting of mom's whimsie.  Her extremely thick hair cushioned his impact and she felt nothing.  She sat down across from dad at the table, drank her coffee, and dad just assumed that little furry thing was part of the feather adornment.  It wasn't until she leaned over to buckle her shoe that the little guy fell off.  Not realizing what it was, they just looked at him until he ran under the fridge.   I left the room because I couldn't handle what may have followed.
One summer, I hit the button to light our gas grill and something fell out, blackened, and smoking.  It staggered away and I wanted Mark to find it and make sure it wasn't suffering.  He never saw it.  I lifted the lid and saw that she had built a nest in the briquettes.  We checked, no babies, and removed the nest.  Next day there she was, a little sooty but a busy builder.  I couldn't displace her again and two days later, babies.  Over the next weeks, I opened the lid daily and as they grew, they came up to the grates to say hello.  When they were big enough, we put gloves on and moved them to bales of straw in the back.  Two days later when I opened the lid to remove the contents, they were back!  This happened several times and finally, I gave up.  We just moved the grill to the wood line.  We mouse proof our grills ever since, and leave a cloth bag with moth balls under the hood of the lawn tractor, another favorite spot of theirs.  I leave the hood up to remind us to remove the bag before mowing, and no mice since.  I don't want them in my house, but I don't want any critter to suffer either.  Sometimes a quick end is necessary but only if it's quick and painless.  I guess I'm weird.
I saw Nina, who tattooed my eyebrows and liner, her hair is fabulous.  It is spiky on the ends and her bangs, yet soft to the touch.  I was impressed and she thought the product would help with my fuzzhead.  The product?  BedHead Manipulator.  So I ordered it.  The wrong one.  I got the yellow jar (a wax) instead of the blue jar (a paste).  It's a texturizer that separates your hair to give it that edgy look.  Well, the wax is ....... beeswax.  So now I can just pull my floss through my hair to wax it.  I ordered the blue jar and it will be here in a few days.
Well this was kind of long and boring wasn't it?  Still hopped up on Advil and hungry as hell.  Sorry.
Dear Brigitte, "crabass" is a person that is part jackass, part crab (a person that is in a bad mood).   They don't keep their crabbiness to themselves, they let everyone around them feel it too.  Therefore, a crabby jackass = crabass. 

I left a comment for Niky a while back that said "be still my heart" and she replied asking me what that meant.  No I don't want to die!  It just means that my heart is racing with excitement and pleasure, and I ask for it to slow down. 

Bitch-slap is a term that has variations, none good.  Some definitions are to actually slap someone unworthy of a full punch.  I never did and never will understand that.  Others use it as a phrase, not intending a physical action, to indicate their displeasure toward a nasty person deserving a slap. 
Someone likes to watch it rain.

That's all folks.  Into the shower I go.  I wonder if hot steam will melt the beeswax.
Have a great weekend.
Thanks for visiting.
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