"This is Major Tom to Ground Control . . . WHERE THE HELL IS JERRY?"
The first time I saw a mouse in real life was after I moved to New York. I arrived in late August of 2008 and didn't know a soul. I dragged two fifty-pound suitcases up six flight of stairs, set that shit down in my new room that was literally converted from a storage closet, and went back out to the nearest corner bodega to buy groceries, because I didn't know any better. I was left in peace the rest of summer and most of fall, but once the temperatures dropped to freezing points, I was introduced to the first of my furry little visitors.
I've seen my fair share of mice since then. You know what's fun about mice? They don't care about anything. I was once stirred from sleep by one shuffling around on my desk, and when I turned on the light to investigate, that little jerk jumped RIGHT AT ME. I'm talking about jumped into the air with a trajectory that was aimed at my face. It took approximately one second for me to discover how loud I can scream. My roommates did not appreciate said discovery.
Moving into my own apartment didn't mean the end of playing hostess to my rodent friends. People suggested I get a cat, which I politely disagreed with, because being a single lady with a cat means embarking on a slippery slope I didn't think I was fully equipped to deal with. You know what's fun about cats, though? They don't care about anything. They might even care less about things than mice do. I'm talking about the epitome of zero fucks.
And both of these animals have absolutely no concern for the protocol regarding personal space. A cat will see you working on a laptop and think to himself, "Oh, you're typing on your keyboard? FUCK YO KEYBOARD. It's my bed now." (I'm knowledgeable of this behavior because of the cat videos my friends post to Facebook). Mice will trek across your stove range, investigating any pots or pans left out, and while on their little expeditions may think to themselves, "You know what? I'm on vacation: TREAT YO SELF. This restaurant looks delightful, look at all these crumbs." It's like living with that one roommate who is always, ALWAYS, in the common areas, and you're like, "Goddamn, I just want to watch my TV show! Can I prepare a sandwich in peace? Shit! Why are you here?"
Space is precious! What the hell is wrong with these animals, don't they know? Do they have any idea how long it took to upgrade from a storage closet room? The least they could do is chip in for rent! Damn!
So bitter right now! And people ask why I hate fall and winter.
Zara crop top, linen pants, and embellished slides; Club Monaco trench; Uniqlo socks; Forever 21 hoop earrings.