I have a smelly new friend, and his name is Mr. President.

When I was younger, I wanted a pet. I mean, what little kid doesn’t want a loyal dog or adorable kitten? Unfortunately, my parents didn’t think the same way.

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It’s true that having a dog is a big commitment. They live a long time and require a lot of care! Even as I grew older, though, I still wanted a pet. My IQ drops at least 100 points every time I approach an animal.

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I still wanted a pet by the time I reached college. But my parents had a point: owning a dog or a cat is no joke. They cost a lot of time and money. Was I responsible enough to have a pet like that?

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I just wanted something cute and fuzzy to play with! Is that too much to ask for? I kept obsessing over the idea.

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This went on for months until my birthday rolled around. This year, my sister bought me a special gift.

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She had bought me a pet cage! And some pet bedding! In other words, the first steps to getting my own pet mouse.

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I always joked about getting a pet, but I never thought that it could become a reality. Now, the possibility was there. I wanted a mouse. I needed a mouse!

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So, a few days later, my sister and I drove to the nearest PetSmart. There were only two mice in the rodents section.

The first mouse was white with brown spots. He was sleeping peacefully, curled up into a little ball of fluff.

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The other mouse was black and lean. He was frantically running on his exercise wheel like there was no tomorrow.

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You can guess which one I chose.

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Even the PetSmart employee wasn’t convinced.

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It was too late. I had already fallen in love with the hyper mouse. The PetSmart employee opened up the cage to transfer the mouse into a box…

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She was right. Soon after getting my mouse, I noticed that he had some interesting quirks.

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Male mice, like many other animals, have a habit of marking their territory. This behavior increases when the mouse feels nervous or threatened. This particular mouse is one of the most nervous, high-strung creatures I have ever seen. Accordingly, he pees constantly.

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To make matters worse, mice usually like to pee and poop in the same location in their cage. My mouse chose a problematic area as his toilet.

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Yeah. All night, my mouse will poop in his exercise wheel. Then he’ll run in it. By the time I wake up each morning, the wheel will be caked in a layer of trampled poop. Every day, I have to wipe it off.

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And that smell. He really likes to mark his territory. I stuck boxes of baking soda around his cage. I bought air fresheners. I opened all the windows. Finally, I resorted to drastic measures.

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Even with the air filter , the smell has only been reduced and not eliminated. I wash his cage weekly and remove the dirty bedding every day. As soon as I do, he makes a point to poop and pee immediately after.

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What’s even dumber, though, is my mouse’s name.

When I got my mouse, I pondered over what to name him for days. Finally, I consulted my friends for advice.

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Then, my dad came along.

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Although I rejected my dad’s suggestion, my dad continued to call the mouse Obama.

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Then, my mom caught on.

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Finally, my sister picked it up.

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Out of all the names I considered, this was the one that stuck the most. A few weeks later, I moved back to school and introduced the mouse to my friends.

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Thus, nowadays I regularly say stuff like this: 

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And stuff like this:

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Thanks, Obama.

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Rome on drugs.

While we were in Europe, I couldn’t help but feel bad for my sister. Why? Well, she chose me as a travel companion. I think she forgot how dumb I am sometimes.

For example: Our visit to Rome. Europe, for some reason, was giving me and my sister horrendous allergies. Everywhere we went, it was a chorus of sneezing.

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On our first morning in Rome, I had the sneezes particularly bad. My sister gave me a friendly reminder.

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I checked my medicine bag, which I had hastily thrown together before we left the US.

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Uh… what was that again? I pulled out my phone. I only had limited internet, but there was enough for me to do a rudimentary Google search…

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And so my sister and I went about our day in Rome. We trekked from Trastevere to downtown Rome, passing by the Roman Forums.

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We went and bought tickets to visit the Roman Forums and Palatine Hill. It was an incredible place! As implied Palatine Hill is built on a hill. We were able to get a really beautiful view of Rome from the top.

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And the Forums! They were thousands of years old and still relatively intact. It was amazing, imagining what the ruins must have looked like when they were brand new.

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My sister knew something was wrong, but wasn’t sure what.

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She decided that I might be hungry. We ventured out in search of food.

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On the way, we ran into the Altare della Patria, a massive, marble monument built for Victor Emmanuel II. This building is enormous, and absolutely stunning.

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Though it wasn’t in our itinerary, we had to check it out. My sister and I climbed up the stairs, marveling at the beauty of the giant monument.

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At the back of the building was a huge door. My sister and I entered, finding a huge and ornate church.

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The church was completely silent. Besides me and my sister, only a few other people were there. Even the smallest footstep echoed through the entire room. And that’s when my diaphragm decided to betray me.

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In that church, as I was completely, inexplicably tired and neurotic, I was hit with the worst case of hiccups I have ever experienced in my life.

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Each hiccup bounced off the walls and reverberated through the room. As my hiccups became more and more violent, people in the church began to stare. My sister grabbed my arm.

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We ran out of the church.

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In all fairness to myself, Benadryl is an allergy medication. However, one of its side effects is overwhelming, soporific drowsiness. Which explained a lot of my behavior that day.

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And that’s how I ended up buying two espresso shots at the Altare della Patria cafe.

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But, whatever. As sleepy and loony as I was, I still had a great time in Rome.

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And I didn’t sneeze once that whole day!