That mouse. It’s back.

Why is it only me who hears it?

I swear, the second hubby falls asleep, the scuffling starts again, keeping me up at night with visions of giant claws creeping up the bedskirt and then pouncing onto my freshly moisturized face.

Now, because I am the only one who has seemingly heard this fucking rodent at work, it has popped into my head that maybe this late-night mouse taunting is all part of a dastardly plot to get rid of me. Like in the movie “Gaslight.”

Have you seen it? It’s circa 1944 – classic black and white fare – Charles Boyer is a jewel thief married to Ingrid Bergman. He tries to drive her insane by dimming and brightening the lights (the gas lights) in the house each night while she’s in her bedroom daydreaming about eating donuts on toast.  Oh, wait. That’s me. Anyway, her husband also fuels her fears that she’s losing her mental hardware by removing things and then making her think she’s hidden them away without remembering. He “finds” his missing watch chain in her purse one night, for instance. Things like that.

So I got to thinking, maybe hubby is after a new and improved wifey, after all these years of marriage. (Just seven years, you say? Ah yes, Sherlock! It’s the seven year itch! Mark my words!) I mean, I wouldn’t blame him if he tried to drive me insane by installing a mechanical mouse somewhere under the floorboards of our bedroom – activated, by a stroke of genius, by the motion of his gently snoring breath.

Because he just might want to replace me with someone who doesn’t fart under the covers and then wrinkle her face in disgust when he does the same. Someone who likes to  ice-climb and has no qualms about peeing in public.  Hell, with someone who isn’t so scared of a MOUSE.

But the problem with his plan is this: I’m already quite mad, thank you very much (cue maniacal laughter: MWAH HAHAHAHAHA MWAH HA HA HA.) Nice try, though.

In the meantime, I dread sleep. To sleep , perchance to dream… Because, for Christ Sakes, if it’s not a mechanical mouse down there, that means it’s a real one. Or some other woodland creature. Like a miniature raccoon. Or a rabid squirrel who enjoys nibbling on toes covered with dessicated nail polish.

Alright, I shall be brave! If only for the sake of my family! Good night, dear friends! I shall see you anon….

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