A chacon son gout, as the French say, freely translated as
"To each, his own taste." (I seriously doubt that "his" is the applicable possessive here.)
I hope that they don't see this either. But if they do, I hope that they realize that many of us put up with a fair amount of ribbing here, usually good natured.
After all, I haven't posted pix or URLs to _my_ home theatre, which prominently features Cardboard as a bass note, with added frissons of early dorm room, recent garage sale acquisitions, and somewhere, I'm pretty sure, a dead mouse.
(Money put aside for a complete renovation has, unfortunately, gone to relatives badly effected by the dotcom shakepout. Maybe next year...)
I just found a dead mouse in my cupboard (under a sink) yesterday morning. Trying to survive on the multitudes of screen paint that was there turned out to be a useless endeavor, I suspect. He'd obviously been there for a while.
As to the mouse issue I prefer to keep mine alive... Seriously, my last house (log cabin in a woodland area) had a resident field mouse that was cute as hell.. He became really brave and once he realized I was not out to harm him he would put in appearances regularly... I was nervous that it would start a plague of them (as house mice can so I am told) but in the years I lived there I am 99% sure I only ever had the one... The idea of poison or a fatal trap was out of the question after feeding the little critter, the house was big enough for two bachelors then (I imagine my lady would freak with the suggestion now)...
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