Friday, November 7, 2014

The rabid mouse, the vital gymnast, and the expendable housewife

I was making lunch when I heard Marty screaming in the garage.  I whipped the door open to find her standing proudly over the body of a dead mouse.  She's an old, overweight housecat with no hunting background and no claws, so I was impressed.  Sarah and I went out to inspect the victim, and we had this conversation:

M: Pet it to see if it's still warm.
S:  No way! It might have rabies.  You pet it.
M:  It's ok if I get rabies but not you?
S:  Well, I'm a gymnast!
M:  And I'm just a housewife, so I'm expendable?
S:  Well, I guess you're job is important too, but it's not like you're a gymnast or anything.

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