All I did was what any red-blooded man would do. This nasty little mouse ran across the kitchen floor this afternoon, and I reacted. I stomped the silly thing. Whammo! No more mouse! Must have been a pretty stupid example of the species. It practically ran under my foot.

So what happened? Was she grateful that I'd rid the house of an abominable pest? Oh, no, not on your bunny rabbit. She looked at me like I was Bluebeard, Robespierre, and the Marquis de Sade all rolled into one.

"You stepped on him!" Her mouth's hung open like a safe after the cracker's exit. A tear ran down her cheek. (Nice cheek, too. Kind of soft like.) Then she threw herself on the parlor couch and started to cry.

"I..." Wait a minute! Was I sorry? I examined my conscience. It's clean as the kitchen floor after I swipe up the gory remains and fling them out the back door.

"Uh, I'm sorry. I didn't know you'd be upset." I lied, prevaricated, falsified. In fact, I was proud of myself. I still had reflexes. But it's true I didn't know she'd have a fit.

She refused to look at me.

I grabbed my jacket and left. Front door. I close it carefully. Why me, God? All I did was stomp a stupid mouse, and I'm a scoundrel. Have to grow a handlebar moustache. Oh, no. I refused to give in. Heck with it! I'm through with women!

No sooner had I walked down the path to the street, however, than I see this babe pass by. Blonde. Stacked. Not bad at all. But you know, she doesn't hold a candle to Effie.

I turned around and started back into the house.