When my wife and I were newly married, we rented an apartment containing two bedrooms, a small kitchen, and an absolutely minuscule bathroom. The bathroom was so tiny that it was nearly impossible for two people to stand back to back between the tub and the sink.
One day I was shaving at the sink while my wife was standing at the bathroom door talking. During a short lull in the conversation I felt a gentle scuffing on my heel. The mirror was fogged over from the steam, but I assumed that my wife was trying to slip behind me so I scooted forward as much as possible to give her room. I continued shaving until I felt the small scratching sensation again. As I attempted to squeeze even further against the sink, I saw someone out of the corner of my eye.
It was my wife – still in the doorway.
In fact, she wasn’t moving at all. She was frozen in place. Then, her eyes (which had been focused on the floor behind me) slowly moved up and met mine.
Before I could ask what was wrong, I felt yet another bump on my heel. I turned quickly and saw a small brown mouse nuzzling against the back of my bare foot.
After a series of impressive jumps, kicks, and manly pirouettes, I was finally able to catch my breath and ask my wife why she didn’t tell me about the mouse caressing my foot. Or, better yet, why she watched it do so three separate times?!
She couldn’t give me a good reason.
In fact, it’s been nine years and she still hasn’t.