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To a mouse, our house looks just like cheese. They are instantly attracted. Once in and established, the mice cleverly climb up through the stove, onto the counter, and find every last crumb of leftover delights.

I'm not easily dissuaded from eating things. If it drops on the floor, I have a very generous 10-second rule: if

Note to Women Only: Don’t let your spouse read this article.
Note to Men Only: Don’t let your spouse read this article.

My wife puts a priority on having the kitchen clean in the morning. It's her fresh palette for mixing and mashing a new masterwork by dinnertime.

Unfortunately, her kitchen maid, her husband, doesn't share the urgency, and instead thinks of the time after dinner until waking as the time to honor his wife's creations with still and quiet gestation - with just a dash of primetime television after the kids retire.

The conundrum: my wife rightly wants her creative workspace clear of clutter, and I want to...well, I really just don't want to do the dishes until right before dinner the next night (at the earliest).

Last night, and many nights prior, however, I found myself compelled the put away all leftovers and clear away the counters before leaving the kitchen. Why? Some sort of reasonable compromise, perhaps? Uh, no. Promises of even more outstanding culinary masterpieces? Ok, now you’re giving me too much credit. I like a good meal like the next guy, but my appreciative capabilities top out well before five-star dining.

No, this was psychological pressure. While reason couldn't convert me, it turns out that a small family of mice easily defeated my will to sit and do nothing.

To a mouse, our house looks just like cheese. They are instantly attracted. Once in and established, the mice cleverly climb up through the stove, onto the counter, and find every last crumb of leftover delights.

I'm not easily dissuaded from eating things. If it drops on the floor, I have a very generous 10-second rule: if I

share the urgency, and instead thinks of the time after dinner until waking as the time to honor his wife's creations with still and quiet gestation - with just a dash of primetime television after the kids retire.

The conundrum: my wife rightly wants her creative workspace clear of clutter, and I want to...well, I really just don't want to do the dishes until right before dinner the next night (at the earliest).

Last night, and many nights prior, however, I found myself compelled the put away all leftovers and clear away the counters before leaving the kitchen. Why? Some sort of reasonable compromise, perhaps? Uh, no. Promises of even more outstanding culinary masterpieces? Ok, now you’re giving me too much credit. I like a good meal like the next guy, but my appreciative capabilities top out well before five-star dining.

No, this was psychological pressure. While reason couldn't convert me, it turns out that a small family of mice easily defeated my will to sit and do nothing.

To a mouse, our house looks just like cheese. They are instantly attracted. Once in and established, the mice cleverly climb up through the stove, onto the counter, and find every last crumb of leftover delights.

I'm not easily dissuaded from eating things. If it drops on the floor, I have a very generous 10-second rule: if

't want to do the dishes until right before dinner the next night (at the earliest).

Last night, and many nights prior, however, I found myself compelled the put away all leftovers and clear away the counters before leaving the kitchen. Why? Some sort of reasonable compromise, perhaps? Uh, no. Promises of even more outstanding culinary masterpieces? Ok, now you’re giving me too much credit. I like a good meal like the next guy, but my appreciative capabilities top out well before five-star dining.

No, this was psychological pressure. While reason couldn't convert me, it turns out that a small family of mice easily defeated my will to sit and do nothing.

To a mouse, our house looks just like cheese. They are instantly attracted. Once in and established, the mice cleverly climb up through the stove, onto the counter, and find every last crumb of leftover delights.

I'm not easily dissuaded from eating things. If it drops on the floor, I have a very generous 10-second rule: if

linary masterpieces? Ok, now you’re giving me too much credit. I like a good meal like the next guy, but my appreciative capabilities top out well before five-star dining.

No, this was psychological pressure. While reason couldn't convert me, it turns out that a small family of mice easily defeated my will to sit and do nothing.

To a mouse, our house looks just like cheese. They are instantly attracted. Once in and established, the mice cleverly climb up through the stove, onto the counter, and find every last crumb of leftover delights.

I'm not easily dissuaded from eating things. If it drops on the floor, I have a very generous 10-second rule: if

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To a mouse, our house looks just like cheese. They are instantly attracted. Once in and established, the mice cleverly climb up through the stove, onto the counter, and find every last crumb of leftover delights.

I'm not easily dissuaded from eating things. If it drops on the floor, I have a very generous 10-second rule: if I can pick it up within 10 seconds of first seeing it, it’s edible, regardless of whether it's been there for a week and I haven't seen it yet. If food in the fridge smells OK when I have a cold, it will be fine. My kids call me their garbage disposal and are well aware that any uneaten dinner will disappear forever.

But sharing my foods with rodents is not OK. Don't they carry the plaque? Or maybe it's something worse?

So, if I’m not 100% convinced my traps have eliminated every last one (sorry PETA), I'm cleaning the kitchen right away.

These mice are real, but I started to think they wouldn't have to be for me succumb to the same pressure. If my wife suddenly screamed in the kitchen while making dinner, jumped onto the couch, and told me she saw a mouse on the counter, I'd be on watch from that moment on.

If the mice didn't appear in the traps, all the better for her, I suppose. The odd success of the Predator movies is probably based on the fact that, to a man, the most dangerous enemy is the one you can’t see. Then, vigilance must be at its highest, and you may need Schwarzenegger.

So, if you want your husband to clean the kitchen right away, "see" a mouse. And guys, if your wife "sees" a mouse, double check that it wasn’t in her imagination. We've got our own standards to uphold!