Band-aid time...

My wife’s mouse died, what are you gonna do. Yes, my wife had a pet mouse, and for the love of God did she love that fuzzy little rodent bastard. I had never imagined before yesterday that a person could get so crazy distraught over a frickin’-frackin’ dirty ass little mouse. Aren’t women supposed to be deathly afraid of mice, hopping up on furniture, squealing, and calling exterminators and what not? So where was the mix-up here.
Though she was nearly inconsolable, I did mange to console her. I took her out and told her that she could buy any ol’ ugly-ass pair of shoes that she likes. I hate shoe shoppin’, and she loves to buy ugly-ass shoes. That turned out to be a good start me thinks. Then I took her to her favorite little place to eat and encouraged her to have a couple of her favorite chocolate martini’s (it was about 1 o’clock in the afternoon by the way). Next, a trip to get her the latest and greatest DVD releases of Sienfeld, by far her favorite show ever. We finished off the afternoon with a lively good romp, if ya know what I mean. All in all a successful afternoon of consoling me thinks.