Turnabout is fair play.


I sat down at the table across from him, hoping the thoughts running through my head weren’t rolling out like a ticker tape banner across my face. I had the wonderful misfortune of inheriting my Grandmother’s Irish green eyes and the temper to match. I’m not good at keeping my feelings to myself, though most times there’s no need to ask if I’m upset. If my eyes don’t alert you, my eyebrows will. Subtlety is not my cup of tea.

I’m mad at him and he knows it. He’s fighting to keep the corners of his mouth from curling into a smile and I’m simmering.

McH- I had something interesting happen.

Me- That’s nice.

McH- Yeah… I was sitting at the bar, having a beer when Mrs. Margarita turned to me and said “Are you Incredicock?”

I gasped & my mouth fell open. I haven’t been that stunned in a long time, but eventually laughed while he gave me the gory details. He prides himself on not reading but is aware of what I’ve nicknamed him. Ironically enough, I’m one of those prudish girls who hates the words cock & cunt. I could never call him Incredicock to his face, so to hear him say it out loud was shocking.

I’m always a little surprised anybody bothers to read while I whine on endlessly, especially when it’s about a man behaving all too basic. To hear that it’s a friend of ours and one that reads enough to identify him from my indefinite rambling on? To his face? Well, that makes my whole damn month.

It serves him fucking right. 😛 I’m over here suffering, missing him like crazy while he laughs about it.

To my darling Mrs. Margarita,

Thank you, my darling lady-love! You’re a true homie. I appreciate you handing him some of my suffering in a shocking little bomb of a package. You’re amazing and I only wish I were there too!

xo J



I’m a very strong woman. I do damn near everything, by myself. I don’t ask for help and I don’t wait for any. If there’s a posibility I can do something, I try. Nothing intimidates me.

But when it comes to mice, I lose my fucking mind.

That’s an understatement. I am actually the lady that jumps up on the furniture and screams bloody murder.

I was talking to my beloved Little Red last night, when the first sign of horror, appeared. It ran out from underneath my greenhouse shelves and deadass looked me in the eye. I leaped on to the chair behind me, screaming. The dog and cat began chasing it around, which only inspires me to scream more.

Meanwhile, my daughter is howling in laughter and I can’t catch my breath.

LR- Oh fuck. It’s a mouse. It has to be. That’s a real scream.

Don’t mind me, I’m just losing my shit over a half ounce of vermin, when another one runs out.


It’s time to move.

And scream, which I cannot stop and do spontaneously if the damn thing moves. I can’t go inside because the Dumpling is asleep and I’ll scare her to death if I scream her awake. So I’m on the chair, howling like a spider monkey…. when my neighbor comes running up the driveway.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy someone comes running when I’m screaming, but I’m also stuck on a chair in the middle of my greenhouse as the dog and cat chase a mouse around me.

Still screaming.

Also apologizing and explaining the mouse situation as he retreats back down the driveway, laughing.

The mouse finally escaped and I was able to run for the house. I tossed a half dozen sticky traps into the greenhouse and went to bed, destined for a restless night of mouse nightmares.

and woke up to all of the traps, full. With live mice. Dear God. Now what? All I can think of is using my kitchen tongs to pick them up and throw them away? Uck, I did not think this through.

I’m also terribly troubled at the thought of how many there must be if I caught 6 in one night.

Christ on the cross, I need a realtor.