Duct! It's a Mouse

“Why are you doing a shot of tequila at 10:00 a.m.?” George asked as he came inside from his shop.

“Because I can.”

“I know there’s only two things that can make you drink this early…your mother and mice.”

“The damn thing came running out of the duct vent in the laundry room, ran up the pile of laundry laying on the floor and buried his freaking Hantavirus ass in the sheets.”

“I’m afraid to ask what you did next.”

“I wadded the sheets up, put them in the washer on hot water, and spin cycled his brains back to hell where he came from.”

“You mean from the garage?”

“Don’t be sarcastic,” I can’t believe George wasn’t being more sympathetic to my traumatic morning, “But since you brought it up, yes the garage is my hell.  Last time I backed my car out I ran over a saw, a six-pack, and a can of oil.”

“I wondered where that mess came from.”  George looked at me and gave me his you-aren’t-telling-me-everything grin.  “So, if you took care of the mouse, why are you drinking?”

“Because, when I took the sheets out of the washer he jumped out and landed on my chest before falling to the ground and running away.”

“No shit?”

“Yes, I shit, and then I had to clean up that mess." I waited for George to stop laughing while I did another shot of tequila.

“I take it you’re still upset because the little tyrant is on the loose.”

I lifted up my bare foot so he could see the bottom of it. “What is that?” George asked.

“It’s BLOOD and GUTS from the freaking mouse.”  I yelled.  “As I ran out of the laundry room to see where he went I stepped on him and he squirted his innards and soapy water everywhere.”

“I’m so sorry.” I gave George credit he was trying to contain his laughter (after I gave him the stink eye).  “What can I do for you?”

“I’m going to soak my foot in bleach; you bring the tequila bottle.”