That’s the text message I received toward the end of my workday, *immediately* after I had yelled over the wall that I wondered what I would find at home today. Yelling over the wall means saying something loudly enough that your cube neighbors can hear you. Don’t hit me Mus Musculus, I laughed when I got it. Actually, I had been pushing to get this particular bed-shuffling chore done earlier in the summer but some people were resistant. I dunno. Would it be logical to take our bunk beds up to the Group Home @ Houghton Lake? I think we could use some bunks up there but not sure if others would agree.

Anyway. I know that the 22-year-old Mus Musculus will finish this task pretty directly. Unlike the 16-year-old Mus Musculus who spent something like three months repainting her bedroom. Everything from in there was in my living room the whole time. Luke of Perrynet finally broke down and asked me what the heck was going on. There was a “yaffa-block” (google it) hanging out in the middle of everything and his then middle-school-aged daughter was watching our house with binoculars. Why? Because it looked to her like we had a cage for a MYNAH BIRD in our living room. Yes. Situated askew in the middle of the room, surrounded by a whole bunch of other junk. I dunno. I guess true compulsive hoarders close their curtains window treatments so people can’t see the mess. I must not be too far into that syndrome yet because I resist curtains window treatments like the plague.

And so. I think that Mus Musculus feels relatively safe living here for the time being but I know that after years of dorms and Senegal and having her own loverly little apartment, she is not particularly happy being stuck with her grumpy cranky senile old parental units here on the Planet Ann Arbor. I want to say to all employers, “Don’t hire the perky little bottle-blonde ding-dong that says she knows it all. Hire someone who can do the damn work and that person may be the one who doesn’t have all the perky little pat answers at the interview.” And that is where I’ll stop with this because it really isn’t my business. I do know that my mus musculus is going to have a long and varied successful career. It will not be the standard engineering or computer science or doctor/lawyer/Indian chief type career. Er, actually, Indian Chief might be a good title for Mus Musculus. But not politically correct, I guess, for a blue-eyed blonde Celt. Sigh. Maybe I shouldda bought one of those tomahawks at Black Iron Days last weekend.

This entry was posted on Thursday, August 27th, 2009 at 7:28 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.