Mouse in My Pants

 

It was sometime in the late 1960s or early 1970s. I was somewhere between 10 and 14...maybe 15. I was on the second floor of our barn in Northeastern Indiana, "helping" my dad clean out the corn crib.

I say "helping" because I remember doing a lot of watching and very little actual shoveling or sweeping.

Times being when they were, I was wearing a t-shirt and a pair of, if not official bell-bottoms, at least a pair of pants with a healthy flare at the end of each leg.

This proved to be a poor choice in attire.

There were several ears of corn trapped between some slats of wood and the outer wall of the barn. When FlatulenceKing (my father) yanked on those slats, a mouse ran out from the comfort of its corn palace, across the barn floor, and directly into the warm safety of my pants' leg.

To be precise, the little varmint hooked its claws into the inside of my left pant leg and headed north as fast as it could scamper.

I trapped it against my thigh just as it reached the halfway point between my knee and my future generations.

With panic on my face and in my voice, I exclaimed, "What do I do?!?"

Dad grinned and said, "Squeeze as hard as you can."

Well...you can bet your sweet bippy I squeezed as hard as I could. I squeezed until my fingernails drew blood from the heel of my hand through two layers of fabric.

And then the moment of truth.

I released my deathgrip, vigorously shook my leg, and watched the flea-taxi hit the floor and scamper away.

Then I had to go help my dad get off the floor...where he was rolling and laughing.

Why Do I Even WATCH Television?

 

I freely admit to being a television junkie during my growing-up years. I told the time by what was on television. I estimated how long an activity would take using units of time called "sitcoms", e.g., "It should only take me two Hogan's Heroes to get that done."

But as I've matured, I find myself getting irritated by things I see on TV that don't make sense to me at all:

• Self-important people who think that yelling “Find my son…now!” has some kind of positive effect on the performance of the personnel of the Missing Persons Unit.
• Police officers who reject the idea of walking up to a suspect and instead, from 20 yards away, announce, “Jimmy Logan, we’re the police and we need to talk to you!” (Invariably creating the next item on my list.)
• Suspects who think they can get away from the police by running down a crowded sidewalk.
• Suspects who think they can outdraw a police officer who ALREADY has a gun aimed at them.
• Doctors who shout "Page Neuro!" to absolutely no one else standing there.
• Heart monitor alarms that burst into loud action in the middle of a routine operation because that's the only way the writers can pack any excitement whatsoever into four people standing around a bloody mannequin. 

Maybe I should read more books.

#MusicToGainWeightBy: The 390th Greatest Song

 

In 1964, The Four Tops had been a touring musical act for a decade, but without a major hit. Then, following a gig in a Detroit bar, songwriter Brian Holland invited them to the Motown studios, where they spent the rest of the night recording what would be the group's first million-seller...making it to Number 11 on the Billboard Hot 100.

The thing is, "Baby, I Need Your Lovin'," by The Four Tops, didn't start out as a depressed cry from a lonesome loser. Before the lyric was revised, it was a Weird-Al-worthy plea for some home cooking.

Baby, I need your oven

Baby, I need your oven

Although you're far away

My friends often hear me say

Another pie, another cake

I love all the things you bake

'Cause I'm so hungry

Baby, I need your oven

Got to have all your oven

Some say it's a sign of weakness

For a man to beg

Then weak I'd rather be found

If it means havin' you around

'Cause lately I've been losin' pounds

Baby, I need your oven

Got to have all your oven

In a totally unrelated story, lead singer Levi Stubbs gained 12 pounds while recording this song.