I went to a hardware store today, and bought:
• some holiday decorations;
• a few things for around the house;
• spackle, those “spatulas” one uses for applying it, steel wool, and duct tape;
• one more electronic mouse-zapping trap; and
• 20 standard wooden spring-type traps; and
• a flashlight with a powerful magnet on it, which I’m hoping she will be unable to misplace. I’m planning on examining every corner of every room for the entry points.
Of course, the talent in my family for misplacing things runs long and deep. But I’m hoping to explain to my mother that the fridge flashlight is Holy Object, of sorts, and must remain on the Fridge.
I ran into Yazoots at the big hardware store today.
“Do you work here?” I asked. “Do you know where the mouse traps are?”
“No,” he replied, as curmudgeonly-like as always. “I don’t work anywhere.”
I’m keeping my fingers crossed that he finds something else in the L.A. area over the next few months; he’s a talented art director—lightning-fast, and everything’s always perfect. He is, in fact, the art world’s answer to the LA-based Wiccan proofreader who has served as my professional mentor and role model for the past seven years.
Furthermore, the particular small midwestern town that our company is going to relocate to is no place for an aging hippie like Yazoots, anyway. (What is it about middle-aged hippies that makes them so competent, anyway? My friend in Topanga Canyon has that same “look,” with the long gray hair, and that same ridiculous level of intelligence.)
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