Reason #357 for self medication
I’m sure that when I announced that I was leaving on a jet plane yesterday, you all assumed that it was to somewhere fabulous. Alas it was only a night in Albany. During which I indulged in Fridays and Friendly’s, because that’s just how I roll.
Returning home just now, I decided to try on a brand new dress from Anthropologie. My rule when dealing with my body, is quite simple: If I can wear clothing from Anthropologie with ease, then it’s all good. The end.
I began glancing at myself in the mirror. Sticking my hands in the side pockets and twirling. When out of the corner of my eye….and I’m loathe to write this…I see a dark spot on a sticky mouse trap in the corner of my closet. I step closer, over the massive pile of clean clothing and there they are. THEY. THEY. THEY. TWO WHOLE MICE.
Just laying there. In the fetal position. One probably got caught and then the other probably came to save its best friend. Which makes me revisit that whole being there for my nearest and dearest thing. One could die in the process.
In lieu of actually picking up the trap with the advised three plastic bags and a broom theory (courtesy of my brother and my pal), I’m sitting here with a rum and coke. Two and half shots of rum to be exact. I’m partly sad for the little critters and partly disgusted beyond belief that they are laying in my closet just dead. And I’m in a fleece and my dress and some Uggs.
Suddenly I remember the quick effect that rum and coke has. It’s powers are magical and I almost don’t remember the reasons for why I stopped partaking in the rum. But I’m sure I will in the morning.
Speaking of drinking and uh randomness….Shamrock Fest this weekend! DJ AM, Carbon Leaf, Flogging Molly at RFK and me drunk and busting out the Irish in me while retelling this story! People, y’all don’t even know the debauchery and fun that is about to ensue.
I promise more fun and excitement than mice in a closet.