Step 38: Get It From Your Momma

As many of you know, I am a half-assed vegetarian, a characteristic that gives me trouble on both sides. Real vegetarians and vegans find me even more insulting than meat-eaters, and meat-eaters find me dim-witted due to the fact that I avoid eating meat if possible.

My family falls into the "meat-eater" category. Now and then my family will give me a hard time about not loving meat. Once my mom even told me that not eating meat was just "abuncha liberal hocus pocus" (whatever that may mean). However, on my trip back to the east half of the US this summer, I realized that the apple does not fall far from the tree.

We noticed that the basement had a few mice roaming around in the ceiling, so we got mice traps to eradicate them. My mom bought a trap that consisted of a stick piece of paper to catch the mice and then the solution on the paper would make the mice fall asleep and eventually die. She set the paper in various places in the basement, and not long after, she noticed a mouse caught in the sticky paper, but not yet asleep by the magical sticky solution.

She was torn. She stared at the mouse for a bit, watching it writhe and whine on the paper. In the end, she decided to save the mouse. My mother gently removed the mouse from the paper, but the mouse was still covered in stickiness. Cradling the hurt mouse she was now calling Stewart Little, she attempted to rinse his sticky legs off in the sink. Try as she did, Stewart's legs remained sore and sticky. So, she put the mouse into a shoe box with a bit of peanut butter, cheese, and a wet paper towel so he would have water.

The next day, the mouse was perky and alert in his shoe box, almost fully recovered. My mom decided to spray him with Goo-Be-Gone to eliminate the stickiness. I was sure that this would finally be the end of Stewart. But, Stewart was a fighter. The Goo-Be-Gone freed his legs up and did not kill him. Once again, my mom left him with food and water for the night.

By the third day, Stewart was in perfect health. My mom was going to take him out of the shoe box and release him into the woods out back of our house. As my mom lifted Stewart out of the box in the kitchen to say good-bye, he sensed the danger he was in and lept out of her hands and behind our dishwasher, never to be seen again.

My mom now sets the metal traps that kill the mice and then leaves the dead mouse in the trap because she does not want to see the damage she has caused. Basically, she is a half-assed killer, like me. It's in my blood. Just like the wise Juvenile said, I get it from my momma.