There was a lot of commotion in our house early this morning. Our crackerjack mouser, Magic the Cat, had captured a mouse and carried it upstairs to the bathtub for further
W woke me up so that I could fetch a large plastic cup to trap the mouse and then set him free. We’ve got this mouse rescue thing down to a science.
I handed the cup off to W, and she pulled back the shower curtain.
“Oh my God, he’s so big!” I said.
According to W, this gave the mouse the courage to scale the walls of the tub and make a break for freedom.
Magic stared up at me from the steps. “You dumb ass. I had that mouse all caught,” she said. “Were you waiting for me to gift wrap it for you?”
She can be a total asshole sometimes.
With the mouse on the loose, W and I decided to go back to bed and pretend that nothing had happened.
In bed, W couldn’t resist pointing out the girlish — and very unbutch — nature of my shriek.
“You just handed me a plastic cup and started screaming like a girl,” she said.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that you wanted to play by rigid gender roles,” I replied. “Next time, I’ll try to scream in a more manly fashion, ” I added.
And that’s how we started our Saturday. It wasn’t even 7:00 a.m., and we were having a heady discussion about gender and roles and expectations and whether it is beyond the realm of butchdom to scream in a girlish fashion when a rodent — imagine a ginormous, fanged rodent the size of a micro-wolf — unexpectantly lunges from a tub inches from one’s body.
So, dear readers, please chime in.
If a butch screams at 6:00 a.m. in a bathroom while dodging a giant mouse and no one hears but her femme, is she any less a butch?
What’s the most unbutch thing you’ve done recently?