Having Survived A Harrowing Encounter With The Farmer's Wife, One Of The Three Blind Mice Has A Harrowing Encounter With His Own

I should have listened to my mother. When we were dating, she told me you were no good. I remember her exact words. She said, "That Justin is one of the dumbest mice I have ever met. If you marry him, you'll be sorry." And to think, to think that I stood up for you- because you were blind! "He's not dumb, momma," I said. "He's not dumb, he's just blind." Pfft. I should have known better. As if four years of marriage didn't already give my mother enough evidence for a lifetime of I-told-you-so's, now you decide to stay out late with your drinking buddies, come home in the morning without your tail, and claim that the farmer's wife attacked you with a carving knife, turning you into an amputee. I've never seen such a sight in my life.

I don't even know where to start. You were supposed to be home by eight o'clock yesterday to take care of the litter, and you weren't. Strike one. I have no problem with you going out for a drink with the boys after work once in a while, but I have book group the first monday of every month and I had to miss it this time around because you and your idiot friends were out painting the town red. I hope you're happy with yourself. How many times have I told you that Pat and Tim are nothing but trouble? Honey, I'm happy for you that you've found friends through the support group for blind mice that you joined, I really am. However, I am not happy in the least that those friends are boozehounds with bad ideas. I swear, I don't know what goes through that stupid little head of yours sometimes- like the time you three tried to run up that grandfather clock. The clock struck one, you all fell down, and I'm the one who had to spend two weeks lying to your boss on the phone every morning because you had broken your leg and couldn't go to work. I don't know how I put up with you.

So you're with your knucklehead boozehound friends, decide to ignore your duties at home, and stay out drinking all night instead. Two strikes, Justin, two strikes. But that wasn't enough, was it? Nooooo... It wouldn't have been enough for you just to come home late reeking of alcohol. You had to try to pull some dumb stunt before you got here, didn't you? Who's lamebrain idea was it to go into the farmhouse anyway? What did the three of you expect to accomplish there? Keep in mind that I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt in assuming that you had a plan at all. I wouldn't put it past the three of you to have run in there mindlessly just to say that you did it. Really, it doesn't matter what your plan was- even if you had the most noble of intentions, it is always an awful idea for three blind mice to chase after an armed human! It would be a bad enough idea if you weren't blind, but in your condition it is just inexcusable. You're lucky that she only cut off your tails! Oh, and by the way, how ridiculously inebriated were the three of you that she was able to slice off your tails so cleanly? Were you passed out when she found you? Your tail is not large, and carving knifes have never been regarded as precision instruments. I can only imagine what she thought when she found the three of you stumbling around in her kitchen. What an embarassment. You three are such stooges sometimes. I want to line you all up so that I don't have to waste the time slapping each of you individually- and don't think that Pat and Tim's wives are letting them get off any easier. I already spoke with Heather and Nora. We are all on the same page, and it is not a happy one, believe you me.

Let's recap, shall we? You forgot to come home. Strike one. You forgot to come home because you were out drinking with your idiot friends. Strike two. You forgot to come home because you were out drinking with your idiot friends, and because you were drunk you got your tail cut off with a carving knife. Strike three, Justin. You are in big trouble this time, do you hear me? I am fed up with this kind of behavior. You are staying home with the litter every night for the next month whether I am here or not, and you are not allowed to leave this mousehole for any reason other than to go to your job so that you can support your family. Can you understand that? Has your head stopped spinning enough for me to get through, or do I need to stamp it out in braille for you? Get out of here. Go wash up. It's bad enough that our children have to hear their father tell them that he lost his tail because he's an idiot, but I don't want them to have to endure your whiskey stink as well. And put some gauze on that tail stump of yours- it's just unsightly.