I decided to clean out my closet the other day. My sister yawned when I told her of my plan, and my interpretation of her response was that she did not consider my self-imposed task a big deal. I was kind of impressed with my own foolish ambition.

Closets scare me. I have one that at times haunts me, eerily beckoning me to explore its dark secrets. At night in the quiet of my room, I swear I can hear the muffled sounds of a hootenanny going on in there. I seldom open the door fully. I just crack it open enough to shove in another item that I don't want, need, or have a place for. Rather than throw it away, I stash it away in the closet with the rest of the junk. Gathering up a few necessities for a day long project, and an air horn to alert someone should I sustain an injury, I was good to go.

I was in attack mode, courage and determination oozing from my very being (and actually a little concerned that I am making such a big deal out of a little task). The door exploded before I fully turn the knob, sending the first pile of crap out into the room like shrapnel. I dodged a wood bookend, and a couple of softballs signed by my nephew's team that I sponsored. My old license plate bounced off of my head and landed on my bureau, creating a lovely crescent shaped gouge in the cherry wood. There was no turning back now.

I established two piles, one for our trash man Fred, and the other for my other trash man, my sister. I never have to throw questionable items away. I just give them to her as a gift. She won't discard anything of sentimental value and a gift qualifies. I stack my stuff in her room and she thinks it is Christmas. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out what a long rope with a circle thing on the end went to. Turns out it was a part of a clothesline. She could probably use that. One for Melly.

Would you look at that... my old Halloween costume. The ex was wondering whatever happened to his Nehru jacket. That's kind of sentimental, I guess. Two for Melly. Hey, I found the tax records I needed a few years ago. I should save these for posterity. Three fo.....what the...? At the bottom of the crate that held the tax records and the Halloween costume were several tiny brown pellets.

AIR HORN! Sweet Mother of Jesus, I had no idea how loud that thing was indoors! When I blasted it I thought I had blown my ears off. Of course releasing the button didn't make it stop. It went through a few musical notes that may have been the beginning of "Beer Barrel Polka", but I couldn't be sure, since I had totally lost my hearing.

I never heard my sister sneaking up behind me to investigate, which explains the second auto-reactionary blast that pretty much deafened her also. I sensed by her grotesque expression and angry gestures that she was trying to tell me to put the damn thing down and step away. Good thing I have a few thousand games of charades under my belt.

I guess I wasn't moving fast enough because she grabbed that air horn with one hand. The other was busy trying to head slap me. We must have looked like two of the "Three Stooges", pulling that air horn back and forth like we were sawing down a tree, and head slapping each other. I gave up first because she's older and I didn't want to hurt her.

After things calmed down she snarled, "What the hell ails you, you idiot?" I showed her the mouse turds in the crate, indicating the presence of a rodent in my closet, and in my mind clearly explaining the occasional nocturnal hootenanny. My sister is a foolishly brave woman. She can also be a condescending know-it-all. She studied the pellets, picked one up and SMELLED it, and threw it at me saying "That's an M&M, you fool! It might have something to do with the Halloween costume!"

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