So I stumble downstairs to plug the kettle in this morning and make my morning tea and what do I see on the counter?

What we shall ever so delicately call mouse calling cards. (And no, I did not take a picture of mouse kaka. You people will simply have to use your imaginations here. Sheesh. Do I have to do EVERYTHING for you?)

Now the sight of this little trail of black pellets ticks me off on many levels.

But what REALLY winds my crank is that I own two, count 'em two, cats and one of them, who will not be named ::cough:: Zubby ::cough:: is constantly trying to bring dead mice INTO the house.

Just once he can't haul a mouse OUT of the house for me? Huh?

I guess there must be a difference between domestic and imported mice. Who knew?

As if the sight of mouse poo poo wasn't enough excitement for one day, when I finally thought to look out the bedroom window, here's what I saw:

EEK. It's a winter wonderland.

And that can mean only one thing.

Yep, Paul pulled what we fondly call "The Marital Aid" out of his underwear drawer.

Are we talking some sort of exotic sex toy?

Um, nope.

Hmmm. Well since it came out of his underwear drawer, perhaps we're talking something glittery and thong-like?

Um, nope.

Give up?

We are talking The Long Underwear, the male form of contraceptive clothing. Calling them "The Marital Aid" is a little family joke, eh.

We women who live in cold climes spend a lot of time indoors during the winter months, isolated, with only our men for company. Nature, in her wisdom, to help keep population growth at a manageable level, invented The Long Underwear.

Ten minutes out of their original wrapping, all long underwear take on a permanent bulge at the knees and the derri�re sags part way to said knees. They stay that way for the rest of their natural days.

I don't care how handsome a guy is, how toned his bod, the minute he pulls on a pair of long underwear any assets he has are immediately obscured. This allows we Canadians of all sexual orientations to live in close proximity all winter without being constantly overcome by those pesky animalistic urges, eh.

Unless, of course, you throw that well known Canadian aphrodisiac--plaid--into the mix. If anyone ever invents plaid long underwear for men, all bets are off.

We Canadians are a quirky people, but then you already knew that, eh.