It has come to my attention as of late that I have a house guest. While he has not revealed his gender to me, I know without hesitation it’s certainly a he. The mouse made his presence known roughly two weeks ago and took it upon himself to run out from under the stove, while I was clearly preparing my dinner for one. Startled, I screamed and he ran back under the stove. But not three minutes later he reappeared.

I know with every ounce of my being that if this was a lady mouse, she would have waited until I was done using the space. She would have popped out, seen me and apologized profusely for taking up my space. In return, she would have apologized for being in the kitchen and not knowing she was there. We would have mutually agreed on a beneficial time for her to return to make her scraps for the evening and shit on my floor. It would have been an awkward confrontation, but at least respectful.

Instead since the time of the incident, Mickey has re-emerged, taken over the TV to watch wrestling, belched loudly along with his woodland friends, urinated on my toilet seat and has sent me questionable “you up” texts.

Disparaging gender stereotypes aside, this mouse has yet to comb my hair and craft me an evening gown. I am truly disappointed.

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