So Uncle F. and I got back last night, tired, homely, quaking like jelly. Woke up and went down to the shack for an hour or two, just to remember who I am before the duties of the weekend conspire against me and my liver. Ok. Here's what happened. I sit down on my futon. This is my futon from 1994. It has seen many homes in both Philadelphia and NY and finally found purchase in the shack a few years ago. It is very uncomfortable, forcing one to sit upright, which is not fun for one if one has ever tried it. (I am more of a huncher but I digress). HERE IS WHAT HAPPENED:
I am sitting there thinking, Jesus I am a shitty painter, then I thought wow it smells like cow in here. I mean really. I smell cow. I didn't smell cow when I walked in and didn't notice it right away but there it was. Was it b.o.? My brand new pants? What? I sniff and sniff. Did I step in dog whatnot? No. Nothing. No sign. I hallucinate that maybe my pants were in a box near a pile of dogshit for weeks before they are taken out and put on the rack. Some weird coincidence of poo. Huh. How could the employees not notice a pile of dog doo in their stockroom? How could I not notice the smell when I tried these pants on yesterday? Why is there no stain? I quickly sit up. Revelation. I pull back the blanket I have been sitting on for several minutes. Underneath is a squished dead mouse. A mouse. Yes. I have been sitting on a mouse corpse. It smells real real real grody. I almost cry. I scream. I puke a little. I make believe I am someone else who is more adept at mouse disposal it gets disposed of. I leave shack. I go home. I take taxi. Taxi driver asks me if I would like to go to a club with him on New Year's, he is looking for companionship. He asks me also to accompany him to San Juan, Puerto Rico in February, tells me all about the roads there. High quality, no bumps. As I exit the cab, he hands me his phone number. He tells me to meet him at the club at 1 am on New Year's, I am to dress Goth. I tell him definitely I will be there. On the scrap where he has written his phone number and name (name is unintelligible, written in Arabic, I think) he has written "Karma." By this time I am somewhat freaked out.
I just wanted you to know. Thanks for your time.