When I see pics from this photoshoot, I think a variety of things (all good) but what I always focus on are those Bell-Bottoms. A mouse could easily run up those jeans, I speak from experience…
Hickory Dickory Dock, the mouse ran up the clock
When I was 19 and still living at home with my parents, I had a pet mouse. Her name was Hershey because she was the color of Milk Chocolate. My boyfriend at the time had a pet snake.
He bought me the mouse for Easter, after I heard the feeder mice we bought at the pet store scream when they were placed in the cage with the snake.
Hershey had babies but only one survived (she ate the others) We named him Pat, after the character from a Saturday Night Live skit, because we couldn’t tell what sex he was for the longest time.
One day while cleaning Pat’s cage I dropped him, after he bit me! My mother and I herded him behind a bookcase and hatched a plan to catch him: Mom would chase him out, while I trapped him in a small plastic trashcan. We didn’t share the plan with Pat, so he scurried right past me, of course.
When he met the wall, he swiftly turned right back around and into my floppy trouser leg, as I knelt on the floor.
I jumped up and proceeded to freak the freak out! The mouse didn’t stop running, he moved up my thigh and around to my backside! I was jumping around like a lunatic while my mother was reduced to a ball of laughter on the floor.
The clock struck one, the mouse ran down
I stripped off those trousers, lightening quick! with my leg rooted in the trashcan to catch the mouse on his way back down.
It was at this point that I happened to catch a glimpse of the window, where the paperboy was frozen in place, watching me jump around in my underwear with my foot in a trashcan.
Hickory Dickory Dock
Nowhere in Particular RA 