Penis Trumps Ovaries

We lead a fairly egalitarian household. In fact, truth be told, I'd much rather mow the lawn while Bob hangs out with the kids. If there's electrical work to be done, it's in my court. We argue over who the power tools and tool box belong to. However, if someone has to crawl under the house, we start drawing straws. Laundry is a mixed bag - the kids do their own for the most part. I do the rest with Bob stepping in as I slack off. Like, say he wants clean underwear for his trip this week. He may have to make that happen on his own. Dry cleaning is picked up and he irons anything else of his that may require it. Dishes, we share. No one starves if I leave town. Anyway, you get the picture.

Well, the past few days, there's been a strange smell in the garage near the washer and dryer. I checked around, sprayed some enzyme-odor-killing-whatever stuff and still the smell was there. I thought maybe a stray cat had wandered in while the dogs were sleeping (Bug left the door open one day.) Today, the stench peaked. We went from hamster cage to all out cannery row. It wasn't nice. So, again, I looked around.

I found the culprit lying at the base of the Weedwacker (one tool I actually avoid.) Dead vermin, apparently whacked in last week's lawn tending and now, having dropped off the underside of the Weedwacker, lying in a state of decomposition on our garage floor. Yum.

Me: "I found the smell. It's a dead mouse. You need to come get it."
Him: [Stands up from computer, walks toward garage, picking up surgical gloves along the way.]
Me: "Here's a Zip-loc. I already turned it inside out for you. And, by the way, I'm so glad penis trumps ovaries on this one."
Him: [Picks up vermin, zips bag closed, disposes in trash bin.]