Mouse and Nan

Do you ever get butt dials?

Do you ever get repeated butt dials from the same number?

Do you ever get repeated butt dials from the same number, which turns out to be your best friend from high school’s dad’s number?

No? Oh.

I do. His name is Mouse. I literally have his number memorized due to all this activity. There are times that I’ll go months without hearing from ol’ Mouser. Then, there will be a two-week span where he calls me every day. Literally.

Sometimes, he knows he’s called me. Then, he’ll text to apologize. Sometimes, he has no idea. Then, he leaves me three-minute voicemails of nothing. Sometimes, he thinks he’s calling his daughter-in-law, also named Beverlie (note the spelling difference). Then, he is very confused about why I am confused (via voicemail, or if I pick up). It’s really a crapshoot.

Some other facts about Mouse? Literally everyone calls him Mouse. His name is Kevin, but I’ve only ever heard his own mother call him that. His wife calls him Mouse. His friends call him Mouse. His kids’ friends call him Mouse. He is… Mouse. Mouse (like Andy) is also missing part of a finger. Another farm accident involving words I don’t understand. Mouse eats a significant amount of chips and dip, and you can pretty much always find it in Nan’s fridge. I say Nan’s fridge, because, much like Smoke and MamaG, I am quite certain that Mouse has not set foot in a grocery store in his life, and has no idea what else is in that fridge (or how it got there). Like any good Midwestern farmer, Mouse loves “The Andy Griffith Show” (admittedly, Bev likes it, too). Over this past Christmas, Mouse was at Uncle Bart’s house (I’m telling you, people…. we’re alllllll interconnected) and when he stepped out to his truck, he slipped on the ice, and ended up under his truck. Like, looking up at the running boards. Oh, how I would’ve loved to have seen it.

Now, just like Andy and Connie, I can’t go on too much about Mouse without including my beloved Nan. Nan washes her dishes in water that is at least 8 billion degrees, and she always wears old-school yellow rubber gloves. She consistently has anywhere from 3-5 Tupperware containers or Ziplocs on her counter filled with baked goods. Cinnamon popcorn is a staple. I hate French toast unless Nan makes it. Nan takes a lot of (legal) drugs before she gets on an airplane, and I truly suspect she takes a lot of (legal) drugs before her kids get on airplanes. Nan is claustrophobic. She once got locked in a bathroom and kicked the door down. She probably weighs a bucktwenty. She kicked the door down. Don’t funk with Nan.

I truly wish you could all come to Mayberry with me someday and meet all these characters. You may not leave with all ten fingers, though. You’ve been warned.

-Bev