Category Archives: Perks Of Dating Me

SWF Looking To Date An Exterminator Or Man With A Cat

Congratulations are in order.  I caught a house mouse. I didn’t catch her by hand or anything.  I didn’t hunt her down with a bow and arrow or miniature rifle.  I caught her with a snap-your-head-off-trap.  The poor thing, she should have chosen the live mouse trap box that was placed mere feet away. Geezus, how many times I’ve chosen the wrong door.

The use of the pronoun, “her,” is an educated guess. I’m pretty sure this mouse was a “sheila” based on her discriminating taste.  All of the other traps were set with cheese and pepperoni and included a small beer and itty-bitty remote control.  In contrast, the trap of her choice had been baited with chocolates and a tiny bundle of flowers.

You might think, “whats the big to-do over an insignificant furry rodent,” and that I must be completely incapable of getting on in life.  Well, let me assure you, I could survive just about anywhere and in fact, I have.  I’m resilient the way.  You can ask anyone, well almost anyone.  Never-mind, I’ll give you he short list.

Its my prerogative to “wimp out” now and again and I didn’t want to get on with a house mouse.  I didn’t feel up to the task of a hunt, capture, kill and disposal.  I expected there would be some measure of backlash and I was right.  I’m getting a slew of hate messages from animal right activists.

As a biology teacher, I can dissect a mouse or any other varmint after preservation in formaldehyde.  I can even label his teeny tiny organs.  Furthermore, I could keep him as a pet, in a cage and give him a cute little name.  However, a mouse must come to me in a package that I’m prepared to open and not a surprise package nor can he be found loose, without a collar, and freely running around willy-nilly.

This mouse was putting my emotional stability just a tad bit over the edge;  It happens – that edge thing. My coping skills falter. Anyway, I heard her chewing under my couch. MY COUCH! The place I securely rest my head while watching, “The Bachelor.”   I just know she was looking for a place to make an uninvited fluffy nest amongst the heap of popcorn kernels and Heshey kiss wrappers. She had to GO.  That is the way sometimes.  I would not share my couch or cholates with this beady eyed vermin.

So now I have to contend with a dead mouse stuck in a trap. I’m going to need a “service” for this disposal part.  We all need a little help now and then.  Today is one of my “Help me, I’m a women in distress,” sort of days.   Any other day I might have pick her up with my bare hands, free’d her dead head and held a quaint, respectable memorial service. I don’t think so, but woman are fickle that way. One day we are hard-core and can take on the world and the next day, quite worthless.

Guess which one I am today?

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The Diss From A Not-So-Shiny Knight

A Letter from a Knight.

Dear Princess,

I fear I fall short of the knight in shining armor you seek.  I think life has put a dullness on my shine and I no longer want to be the hero everyday. I think I need a hero of my own sometimes.

So yes. I have little doubt you are amazing and I am totally infatuated but I end more days feeling like I can’t keep you smiling than ending them knowing you are happy. That is the death of me.

So I content to wonder what the princess would be like to hold while I lament letting you down. It’s a conundrum I tell you.   Maybe Sunshine has the answer

A Response from a Princess

Dear Not-so-Shiny

A knight in dull armor is still a knight.  His silver plated suit may be scratched, dented or even missing entire pieces. The injury to the shield may be so deep it cuts clear down to the flesh. Under this metal layer however, is where the hero resides.

Isn’t everyone a hero?  Haven’t we all stepped up, survived, placed ourselves in some sort of physical or emotional “harms way” to protect another?   Isn’t saying all of that stuff about “falling short,” a cop-out and a dismissal?  For sure, at times it can be too hard to get up and move forward. We get tired walking the gangplank that requires careful placement of one foot ahead of the other.  It is terrifying, not to mention exhausting.  We’ve all experienced moments of inadequacy and often “fallen short” of our own expectations.

This  princess’s dress is not covered in fine lace nor accessorized with glass slippers or diamond crown.  Hell, it is more akin to cinderella’s scrubbing rags.  The dress is plaid and 5 years old. My feet are covered with flip flops. My crown is a rubber banded ponytail.  Furthermore, my undies and bra don’t match.  I could lament upon it, wishing it were different.  Today, I’ve decided it makes me more interesting. More of a surprise.  It is my own little secret that no one can see. I have piles upon piles of these little secrets under my plain armor of plaid cotton.  This mismatch doesn’t have to drag me down. However, that is not to say that I don’t occasionally  feel like burning the whole damn lot.

There have been times – many times – I’ve taken off these flip flops and donned galoshes because I needed them to trudge through my own puddle of tears or the tears of others. No one carried me across. I didn’t know if walking through the pond was right or wrong;  I just did it based upon what strength I could summon, what amount of fear I could suppress and because I needed or wanted what was on the opposite edge.

Sometimes, I had to be drug across shark infested waters because panic paralyzed me. I didn’t  believe in the form, safety or potential of what was the shore. Other times, I couldn’t walk through or around that seemingly endless body of water.

Am I still a hero? Ask anyone who knows me or of me.  I’ve stopped trains but the true measure of my heroine-ness happened after I got run over by one.  I peeled myself of the tracks to reach out to someone else who needed a bit of saving.  Mind you, I don’t look or feel the same as I did prior to the wreck.  In some ways I’m worse and in other ways, I’m better.

I often wonder when I’ll be a heroine again; The sort that saves another.  It is that very hope which has literally carried me through the past several years.  Sometimes it feels lonely and heavy not having a person to carry me across.  I tread, swim, sink and hold my breath. Swimming across will be empowering.  We all need that  feeling being something “more” to someone else, a purpose to drive us forward.

There is no doubt I have failed at being a super heroine more often than not. In most cases I’ve failed to be my own hero. Does it make me weak or strong that I went to bed and still got up but in the course of the day that is ALL I did? I’ve wondered at times if I’m a fool or a one tuff chick. Yes Michigan, my smile falters. I’m not so damn amazing. I’m not sure how I “feel to hold,” but I expect at times it might feel pretty prickly. Gotta wear garden gloves at times.

Regarding your dullness of your armor, try TARN-X and a micro-cloth.  I hear it works wonders. I hope sunshine is your answer.

 

Princess in Pa