The Hair Mouse Of Despair

ImageAll right.  I admit it.  I haven’t slept well for the past few years.  After a while, you simply can’t make up the sleep you’ve lost.  That’s my excuse for waking up this morning screaming like a 3 year old drama queen.

I’m usually not like that.  I’ve opened my eyes to a 3 inch palmetto bug (aka, roach) tickling my cheek with a feeler and simply shoved it off the bed with my hand for the cats to play with (aka, kill).  I’ve been stung by a scorpion I severely disciplined (aka, stomped into oblivion).  I’ve cleaned up my share of dead mice the cats brought in as gifts.  But ever since I moved into the country 21 years ago, rarely has anything sent me flying off the bed as if it were on fire.

It’s unseasonably cold in Florida right now.  I should be wearing a sleeveless shift and 50 cent flip-flops.  Instead, I’m wearing winter fleece, my pink flamingo socks, and moccasins.  It’s 59 degrees out there–head under the covers weather!  Fortunately, it’s going to be 96 next week.  That’s more like it.

My BAID (My but alas I digress).  I was up half the night, as usual and raised my head up to straighten the pillow and there it was, looking up at me.  When I jumped, it was gone–but there was no sound, no scratching of little feet, and the usual scared mouse droppings were nowhere to be found.  I lay down on my bed and there it was again.  Dear God, where did it come from?

That’s when I took a good look at it’s little green face.


The hair tie matching my fleece lounge wear (aka pajamas) stared at me with cold, ominous, shadow-eyes.  

I’m humiliated beyond belief to admit that the body of the “mouse” ended up (quite literally) to be hair that fluffs out just after the tie, with a curly-q at the end.  This unruly opponent, worthy of respect (as well as a giant dose of conditioner) shall, henceforth, be known as the hair mouse of despair.