The Extermination of Country Mice

(In a pre-post news flash, we refer back to the horrific hotel sagas related last week, some of which contained bedbugs, the only defense against which seems to be a donning a suit of armor before going to bed in the hotel. The good news: We found the suit of armor. The bad: We found it the morning after.)

To resume: Today’s post expresses disapproval over the treatment of gullible and unsophisticated folk when they travel to the Big City. We will call these good folk Country Mice. (and draw your attention to the ever–vigilant, never–slacking quest of The Prude-Your Prude- to Change Things Up and Stay Out of Blog Ruts.)

The adventure began with the Country Mice on their way to the Big City. Being Country Mice types, they decided to avoid the ubiquitous traffic and road construction that were everywhere present in the great state to which they traveled. They took charming back roads and chuckled naively to themselves as they rolled merrily along.

But City Roads were lying in wait. The Country Mice, within mere hundreds of yards of their destination, turned onto a Street of Perpetual Construction. And sat cowering amongst the City Mice in their Priuses, Mercedes, Landrovers and Lexii.
The driver’s seat Country Mouse gripped his steering wheel and checked his mirrors before moving ahead at 100 mph (meters per hour). The City Mice to his left, right, fore and aft would swig their (presumably cold) coffee, honk, text message, honk, check Facebook status, check their nostrils for foreign bodies, and honk twice. (Son Mouse believes the City Cars are made of Nerf after noting an 18 ft. long vehicle merging into an 18-inch long space.)

Orange road construction signs sense when Country Mice start to gain confidence on City Roads. The Country Mouse behind the wheel sees traffic ahead accelerate to toddler ‘My First Skates’ speed. He removes his stiffened foot from the brake and inches it toward the accelerator. With a fiendish chuckle the Orange Signs swoop down and settle along side the road just as the Country Mice pass. City Drivers ignore them- they have built-in immunity. But Country Mice?  They believe that orange road construction signs actually mean road construction, and with a resigned sigh the driver lifts his petrified foot back to the brake pedal.
(Note: The Country Mice counted 859 Orange Signs but saw not one road construction worker, one shovel, or one backhoe. )

City Hotels delight in playing cat-and-you know what.  Mother Mouse wisely used an online reservation for a great price at a hotel-to-be-named-later. She saved a bunch of money. But City Hotel rubbed its paws gleefully at check-in. Why yes! That great price is your cost! But naturally, you have to pay for parking! How much? A bunch! Son Mouse queried about free WiFi and all the City Hotel employees gathered around and held their sides, roaring with laughter. That’ll be another bunch of money, young man! What was that you asked, little Country Mice? Free breakfast in the lobby? At this point every other City Guest in the City Hotel erupted in a virtual symphony of guffaws as the City Concierge held up a menu advertising a piece of toast, a cup of juice and some coffee. For a bunch of money. Plus tax and tip.

(The City wasn’t completely heartless. They graciously identified this passageway. In case we didn’t know it was a hall)

The Country Mice returned home with their tails hung low, and found comfort in an old, sweet song. It goes like this:
3 City Mice,
3 City Mice,
They all ran after the Farmer’s Wife,
She threatened their tails with a carving knife,
Till they promised to honor the Country Mouse types
The rest of their life.
The rest of their life.

Tomorrow: The Prude expresses disapproval verging on outrage of BLACK HOLES