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Today there will be a different format for the blog post.  My friend Bella Rachel and I went to a show. Then an odd thing happened to us after the show.  We have found though, in the course of telling this story, that our approaches to this adventure were vastly different.  Hence, this post is being told from both of our points of view.  And, because we are wordy, this long.

So get a drink and a snack and strap in….

To avoid confusion my pov is prefaced by EM and hers will be prefaced by BR
Setting the scene:  We are alone, in a parking lot of a strip mall.  It is well after 10pm and there is really no one else about. Bella Rachel’s car was parked here during the show and so I have parked my car in the spot directly to the left of hers.

EM: After the show, but us, being us, we never just say goodnight and then leave.  We had to sit there and discuss everything and anything ranging from the show to …well anything.  I had pulled up next to her car, so that eventually when we decided it was time to go home, it was not very far to go.

As we were talking I saw some movement in the passenger seat behind Rachel’s head.  Totally forgetting that this was her car I said,” I think there is a dog in that car”.

Without even blinking she says, “There is no dog in that car.  That is my car”.

“Oh, that’s right,” I said thinking, “How funny that I forgot that I parked next to her car not even 10 minutes ago”..and we went back to talking. 

A few moments later I thought I saw some more movement and I said, “I swear something is moving in that car….I think you have a ghost”.

“What?” she exclaimed, “There is no ghost in my car”. 

“Well, something is moving in that car”.

“No”, she said patiently (and a little slowly as if I big words might be confusing), “It’s just the lights from the cars that are turning in and out of the parking lot”.

“Huh…that makes sense”, I said.

BR: Why is the logical next step from dog in the car, a ghost in the car? Do you see why I felt that big words might be a little difficult at the moment?

EM: While I concede that lights is most logical as an explanation, since you made it abundantly clear that there was no animal in your car, ghost was the next thing to pop in my mind.

Moving on….

We continue to talk and I see the movement again and this time I see that it is not a ghost or a dog; it is a mouse …in her car!

“Um…there is a mouse in your car”, I said slowly.  I was also trying hard not to let the smile in to the sound of my voice.  Cause, really?  How did this happen? And it’s hilarious (Said in sing song voice…go ahead, it’s fun)

“What?!?!?” she squeaked and turned around to see, probably holding out hope that I am lying.  And there is the mouse, stretching out in all his mousey glory, as he tried to see how tall he could get as he looked out the window of her car.

BR: It’s true. For a split second, I fully believed that EM was lying to me to fuck with me. I also deny that I “squeaked”.

EM:  She totally squeaked

Bella Rachel turns to me, with an accusatory stare and tone and says, “These kinds of things never happened to me before I met you!”

“What? I had nothing to do with this!” I said in disbelief.

“These kinds of things only happened to me AFTER I met you!”

“This is NOT my fault!” I said, in between giggles, but trying to look affronted at the implication that this is somehow my fault.

BR: I still believe that the mouse is EM’s fault. Before EM, no mice in my car. After EM, there is a mouse in my car. See the correlation? And you vehemently telling me that this was NOT your fault is decidedly unconvincing when you are giggling uncontrollably.

EM:  That is terrible logic.  

“There cannot be a mouse in my car!  I am afraid of mice”, she wailed, “So he can’t be in my car”. (best logic ever, I am afraid of it so it can’t be)

“Ok, then let us get him out of your car”, I said and opened my door, totally failing at trying not to giggle cause this sh*t was funny.

BR: I maintain that I neither wailed nor squeaked.

I did say, “I cannot drive my car with a mouse in it. If he stays there, we have to leave my car here and I will be coming home with you. Or, we can trade cars and I will return your car once mine no longer has a mouse in it.”
EM, not particularly liking either of those ideas, managed to stop laughing hysterically long enough to say, “Well, ok, give me your keys.” She proceeded to open all the doors to my car, in hopes that the mouse would scamper out of its own accord.

I, of course, could go nowhere near my car. I was the absolute picture of a distressed woman. 

Em: Complete picture of a distressed woman?  I’m glad no one in this post is being over dramatic  or anything.

BR: I’M over dramatic? Hi, Pot, my name is Kettle.

However, not all was lost! We are both married to manly men. Surely, one of them has an idea of how to remove said mouse from my car. Yes?

While EM called her husband, I texted mine. He had been imbibing throughout the evening and his most recent text said, “Are you coming home soon?” I responded with, “I would love to come home, but there’s a mouse in my car.” Now, my husband is well aware of my fear/hatred of mice. I expected an appropriately shocked response and an immediate inquiry into my mental state and well being. What I received, however, was “Oh noes!” Followed shortly by, “I promise it won’t crawl up your leg and bite you while you drive.”
Yes, he said that. Fail on the husband front.

So, EM decides that leaving all of the doors open and blaring the radio is the best plan to scare the mouse out. Not having a better suggestion, I stood as far away from car as I possibly could while still being near it. As I continued to pace the area and restate that I could not possibly drive my car while there was a mouse in it, we waited for a few moments and nothing happened.

Finally, EM came up with a brilliant plan. We would turn off the radio, close up the car, and roll down the one window where this mouse had previously been spotted. We would then sit in her car and wait for the mouse to come to the window again.

At this point we were coming to terms with absurdity of our situation and began posting on Twitter and Facebook what we were going through. Suffice it to say, our friends were no more helpful than our husbands. 
EM thought to Google ways to get a mouse out of a car. Those suggestions were…kind of worthless.

EM: Google suggestions:  Get a cat, drown it in a bucket of water, cover something in peanut butter….

BR: The way you wrote those suggestions, it sounds like steps…

EM: Fine
Suggestion 1: Get a Cat
Suggestion 2: Drown it in a bucket of water
Suggestion 3:Cover something in peanut butter

BR: Love you!!!! 🙂

Anyway, we continued chatting and waiting for the mouse when, suddenly, the mouse appeared! EM was very helpful (insert sarcastic tone here) (EM: I was so helpful it isn’t even a joke!)at this point as she began using a sweet voice usually reserved for pets and tried to talk the mouse of the car, saying what a pretty and healthy mouse it was. I, being less concerned with the health of the mouse than with its whereabouts, was less than amused by her.

EM: So. True.  You were in fact, mean to the mouse.  She starts yelling at the mouse “Mouse (BR: expletive)!  You get out of my car!  Right! (BR: Expletive!) Now!”

The mouse failed to respond.  In fact, he gave us the mouse version of F-U and scampered away from the window and over to the drivers seat.  Bella Rachel, in her “picture of a distressed woman”pose, turns away from the window as she cannot bring herself to see what he has planned.  

The mouse then starts running back and forth across the dashboard (laps, what is this, a gym?) (BR: Yes, it was a full-service moving hotel) and I say “Do not turn around.”

Unable to do the very (small) thing I asked, she turns around to see the mouse stop in the middle of her dashboard and survey his mousey little kingdom.

“Mouse!  Get out of my car!” she yells (Thank goodness the parking lot was empty or people would have thought we had lost our minds) meanwhile I am saying (BR: in her syrupy sweet, kind voice), “Mouse, why are you making her mad?  Just get out of the car.  There are restaurants here, garbage cans, grocery stores and a sewer entrance…it’s like mouse heaven!”  

Now imagine us doing this at the same time, in the general direction of her car for about a full minute.

Then the mouse makes his way to the steering wheel, climbs on it and then does this:
This is the mouse…clearly, he was kind of a jerk

Her screaming at the mouse gets worse and I collapse into giggles.

BR: That’s cuz you’re a b*tch (sing-song voice…omg, you’re right, it IS fun)

EM: Why does it sound like F-U when you say it like that?

Then, a few minutes later the mouse is done congratulating himself on what an awesome mouse he is and decides he needs fresh air…at the window we left open for him…….and ……stops.  I am trying to coax him out into the awesomeness that is the outside of her car, in between giggling when Bella Rachel turns to me and says, “I don’t know who I hate more at this moment, you or the mouse”.

Luckily, the mouse then lost his footing and fell out of the car.  Scampering away into the darkness.

Excited that this is now over I say, “Yay! Drive safely! Let me know when you get home”.

Bella Rachel says, “We have to wait a few minutes”.

“For what?”

“In case he comes back”, she said in all seriousness.

Apparently he is the super spy of mice.

BR: Wait….when did we decide he likes opera??

EM: All spies like opera…duh

BR: Look, I know you’re making fun of me (and I’m crushed), but this was an important step. If I had gotten out of my car and into yours and during this process the mouse had hopped back into my car, I would have passed the F out. Also, right around this point is when a policeman drove by. We were both aggravated that he wasn’t around sooner (to help) and also glad he wasn’t around sooner (to declare us insane for yelling at a mouse).

EM: At some point you may have tried to grab his gun and shoot the damn mouse.

BR: Or, you.

EM:  No, no…definitely the mouse

After a sufficient amount of time has passed I am given permission to check her car for super sneaky mice that possibly might be trying to get back in the car (there were none) and after it was declared safe….She got into her car.

Where she found this note:

Wouldn’t that have been amazing?!?!?!

BR: Remember that part where it sounded like I was saying F-U? That was a good part.

As a side note, this story fully defines our relationship in so many ways. a) we love to f*ck with each other as much as possible. b) it took us about two months to write this. c) one of the best parts of writing this was typing over each in google docs.

EM: That’s cause “We’re awesome!”

BR: When you put it in quotes, it sounds less genuine. It’s a scientifical fact that we are awesome.

Oh!!! And, we named the mouse. We named him Anakin. Know why? Cuz I hate little Anakin. And I hate that super fluffy healthy mouse.

EM: But he was so fluffy and healthy he couldn’t have been in our car very long…that is all I’m trying to say


EM: I still maintain this wasn’t and could never be, my fault.

BR: It’s ok, I totally forgive you.

EM: For helping you when you were a “completely distressed woman”?

BR: ……sure. THAT. Quick question: what’s 2 + 2 (for large values of 2) = ?

EM: 5!

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