A couple of weeks ago, a lady who lives across the street from us came over to ask me if I’d take a look at her stove as the oven was not working. She’s a divorcee with a ten year old daughter and I’ve helped her out in the past. I got some tools and my wife and daughter decided to come along as well and visit. Maybe they don’t trust me with a young divorcee.
It was a blown fuse and I fixed it in no time. I was in the kitchen putting the cover back on while my wife, daughter and the lady of the house were in the living room having coffee.
The little girl came up to me and said, “I’ve got a surprise for you. Close your eyes and open your hands.” I said okay and then all hell broke loose.
I’m terrified of mice. What she put in my hands was a gerbil, but to me, it was a mouse. Pandemonium.
I screamed and threw my hands into the air. The gerbil hit the ceiling, bounced off and hit the floor. Dead. Now the little girl is screaming because her gerbil is dead, I’m screaming with terror, my wife rushes into the kitchen and starts screaming at me, my daughter is screaming for everyone to stop screaming and the lady of the house is screaming in the key of C minor for the sake of harmony.
After everything calmed down they held a little funeral in the backyard and I promised to buy her another stupid gerbil.
The next day, I took her to PJ’s pet store and bought her another beast.
A couple of hours ago, I was taking a walk and the woman was outside sweeping the walkway so I went over to say hello. While making small talk, I asked how the liitle girl’s new gerbil was doing. The woman said, “Funny you mentioned it. It just escaped into the backyard this morning.”
In all innocence, I said, "With the cats around here, it’s a goner for sure.
Guess who was standing behind me when I said that?
The wail of anguish from that kid could be heard in Tangiers.
I took her to PJ’s and bought her a bowl with a couple of goldfish.