A funny story

Recently, we discovered that we have a mouse in our house. Actually probably more than one. My wife found a tiny calling card in our daughter's room. . . and freaked out. She literally bought about 10 of those old school scary metal traps.

I tried to smear one with peanut butter and set it, but honestly I could not. I just couldn't figure it out. So. . . if anyone wants 9 unused mouse traps and 1 peanut butter coated one for real cheap let me know.

I bought one of those "glue trays." Now this I could set. You kind of just put it down on the floor or the counter.

At about 1.30 in the AM, I visit the kitchen, and I see the glue tray has done it's job. A mouse, stuck to the tray, clearly thinking, "What in the world have I gotten myself into?" It was very scared, and I truthfully experienced a large amount of compassion for it.

Reading the box, I saw that it instructed me in a type of cryptic haiku: "For humane use, use gloves, apply vegetable oil, remove with pencil." It's like a clue. . .

I put the glue tray with the squeaking mouse on a plate. I pour some olive oil in a large red plastic cup, and I can't find a pencil so I find a fork. Then I actually do find a pencil, I put both the pencil and fork on the plate.

It's late, so I have no shirt and shoes on, just shorts. Of course, I have to release the mouse outside. And I can't just release it near to my house, or it will find its way back in. I have to go far away from my house. I live in a townhouse community.

So here I am, 1.30 in the morning, wearing nothing but shorts, carrying a place with a live mouse on it, a cup and a fork, and sitting on the curb and I realize that if anybody sees me, I'd be lucky if I weren't institutionalized by morning.

Now that I read it, maybe it's not that funny when written. But goodness it was funny to me.