Wearing a towel-turban, body towel and bathrobe, I head to my room after taking a shower. Smack-dab in the middle of my bedroom floor is a fat, round gray mouse moving ever so slightly. My first, second, and third reaction is to scream.
“There is a mouse dying in the middle of my bedroom!”
I tell my sister she has to take care of the problem. My excuse is, “I’m naked!” She gets a broom and a dustpan. Her plan is to sweep him up, but she just can’t do it. Yes, this hamburger guzzling leather-wearer doesn’t want to hurt the poor wittle mouse.
Of course, being the brilliant adults that we are, we call in our mom to take care of the problem. She sweeps him up, carries him outside (to die in nature - the humane way, obviously). She screams a few times, but her bravery was commendable.
While I’m glad that the mouse is no longer writhing on my carpet, I can’t help but wonder what killed him. I hope it wasn’t a heart attack induced by a snake sighting.
Kill me now.
I know no one wants to hear it, especially HR, but really, at this point, in addition to my skills and experience, each cover letter should say “I am sorry, I do not mean to ask for your pity, but I really, really need a job. I will do this job well because I have to, quite frankly. Please at least give me an interview; it is serious stakes here.”