Hearing that my latest rental house had a huge mouse problem, my Idiot Brother-in-Law advised me to get the large rectangular sticky traps. Mice go on but they don't go off, he said. He told me what to do when a mouse gets stuck on the sticky trap: take it, with the sticky mouse squirming away, fold it in half and STOMP on the mouse. You must do this so the mouse won't suffer. The sticky traps work really well; get them! he said.

I drove to church Sunday morning. Although I was right on time the parking lot was full and no one else was entering the church. Checking my watch and confirming the time, I entered and walked forward until I found a vacant pew near the front. The congregation eyeing me was singing a hymn, and as I perused the program I realized that it was the last hymn, right before the benediction, not the first hymn. I felt a hot sweaty flush of embarrassment. I immediately realized what had happened it was spring, and the clocks must have changed to Daylight Savings Time the night before. I had been too busy getting a divorce to notice this in the news. I called my sister later that day and my brother-in-law answered. I told him about this embarrassing incident and he admonished me: You should have called me, I would have told you about the Daylight Savings Time. You mean, I should have called you to ask about the time change I knew nothing about? Yeah. I would've told you about it. You should've called to ask. Next year don't forget to call me the night before.

After my divorce, I started internet dating. My brother-in-law looked at the dating profiles on my screen, and chose this one for me: Easy going personable Guy looking to find a substantial relationship with a quality woman. Someone who will meet me HALFWAY!! I'm tired of being a meal ticket. Really, you have no idea, what we men go through...whew. I'm sorry if that statement offends you, but it is absolutely true. Try being a Man for a few Dates and you'll understand. So, in other words, if you have a serious interest in finding a True Partner, a Friend, a Lover, someone to walk beside you then feel free to contact me. I chose not to post a photo, due to professional reasons. I like this one, said my brother-in-law. He'd be good for you.

When my sister and brother-in-law visited I confessed to my B-in-L that I had decided not to use the sticky traps to deal with my increasingly severe mouse problem. I had been using bait traps and trying to keep my house extra clean. But I still found mouse poop in my son's Cheerios one morning. My brother-in-law considered this. Can I get some ice for my wine? he asked, annoyed that it hadn't already been offered. He dumped some cubes into his cabernet, and then, between swigs, he advised: Get the snap traps. They're classic. They really work. And you can re-use them! Re-use them? Yeah. If you catch a mouse, just take it to the garbage, release the spring and dump it out. Then re-use the trap. He raised his glass, swigged his wine one last time and then retired to the couch to watch his football game. I spent the next evening baiting and setting twelve mouse traps with peanut butter. This took a while just the thought of a mousetrap made me squeamish, so I was using rubber gloves which made the task difficult to say the least. But I finally finished and set them all around the house, under radiators and next to cupboards. Just when I had taken a deep breath, sat down and turned on the TV to achieve the inner peace that it provides, SNAP. I got a plastic-lined garbage can, put my rubber gloves back on, and, per the brother-in-law, went to dispose of the mouse. I gingerly picked up the trap, held it inside the trash can, and then reached with my rubber-encased fingers to lift up the metal clapper. This was difficult (I couldn't or wouldn't look directly at it and the gloves were again an impediment the alternative too horrible to even consider) but I was unrelenting: I finally was able to grasp the metal wire and pull it up. The mouse remained stuck to the trap. Glancing sideways at the trap, which I was holding at arm's length, I couldn't see any evidence of sticky blood or guts gluing the dead mouse to the trap. Just its crushed body, obscenely bulging eyes and stiff extended legs separated from my fingers by only a layer of latex. The mouse's body had flattened into the trap and did not want to let go. I would not grab the mouse's tail and yank it off. Instead, I vigorously shook the trap while holding it open and looking the other way as much as possible. I banged and scraped it against the side of the trash can. The mouse finally fell off. Then I washed the trap and re-used it. I saved fifty-five cents.

I broke it to my brother-in-law that I hadn't pursued a relationship with the first guy he recommended. He looked at some more dating profiles for me and found another one. Why don't you date this guy? he said, showing me the profile: I am a intelegent [sic] man looking for that special woman. She should be comfortable in herself. Under college he put School of Life. No, I said. He scanned a few more profiles. Here's a guy you'll really like, he said. My ideal woman is Low Maintenance. I'm looking for a woman who will compliment [sic] me rather than complete me. I imagined complimenting this man on his appearance, his successes, his ability to lower the toilet seat when done. All this while maintaining an appropriately minimal level of relationship expectation. Well, maybe, I lied.

My brother-in-law was suspicious of EZ Pass, the electronic thing you stick to your windshield so the state can automatically deduct road tolls from your bank account. Everyone else had had them for years. He wasn't really concerned about the government invading his privacy. He wasn't concerned that there would be an electronic record of every place he went. It was just that the EZ Pass was something new to him it inspired some kind of primal testosterone-induced caution. I don't think we should do this, he would say to his wife and to me. We have to stick it on our car? he asked. Where does it go on the windshield; will I still be able to see? I have to order it? How much money does it cost? How do they get the money from me? Why should I do it? I'm used to stopping to pay the tolls. What's a little line on the turnpike? We don't need this. Being suspicious of EZ-Pass is like being suspicious of e-mail. Or plastic packaging. Or cable TV. Or supermarket bar code scanners. Or cell phones. Or digital cameras. Or iPods. Or spreadsheets. Computers. Anti-lock brakes, sippy cups, disposable butt wipes, internet dating, debit card payments, Velcro, Daylight Savings Time.