RATS AND EVENING GOWNS

The telephone calls are coming again from the South. I still haven't found a way to communicate to my offspring that if they want my help, they must live closer to me.

First was the RAT. Cara, who is an engineering co-op student, called from Mississippi. "Mom, I have a RAT in my apartment," she said with a quivering voice.

Expecting that she was intelligent enough to know the obvious, I said, "Stand on the dresser and scream."

The next morning she called and said, "Mom, I heard the RAT again last night."

Again expecting her to know the obvious, I patiently explained, "Go to the hardware store and get a mousetrap. Set it in a place where you won't step in it."

The third morning, she called again. "Mom, I did what you said. It is really a RAT and not a mouse. It escaped from the mouse trap and left big black hairs."

"Go to the hardware store and get a RAT trap," I told her. "Surely they have a trap in Mississippi big enough to catch a Mississippi RAT."

The RAT calls have stopped, and I am afraid to ask what happened. I dream of a bear with big black hairs being in my daughter's apartment and eluding the RAT trap as he traipses around her room at night.

The same day, Sharla, who lives in Mobile where a Mardi Gras carnival is held, called and said, "Mom, I have been invited to a Mardi Gras ball and I have absolutely nothing to wear! They wear formal gowns!"

"Look in your roommates' closets," I answered.

"Angela says I can wear her dress, but the neckline plunges too much for me," she lamented.

I am certain she thought that the image of my baby, wearing a revealing dress in high society would push me into saying, "Go buy a simple black dress with a white lace collar and I'll reimburse you."

Being the nontraditional mother that I am, I answered, "Wear your pushup bra and be the belle of the ball.""I can't do that. The dress is strapless," she lamented.

"Look in Brooke's closet for an attractive shawl," I told her. "I read in 'Glamour' that shawls are in style in Mobile for Mardi Gras this year."

"You are no help," Sharla said with a groan and hung up the phone.

That night the same daughter called to ask me to cut articles about microbiology out of the newspaper for her.

Being a student of the arts and not of the science, I asked, "What is microbiology and what would the articles be about?"

"Microbiology is the branch of biology that deals with microorganisms and their effects on other living organisms," she explained.

"Oh, I see," I said. "So what would the articles be about?"

"One thing is bacteria."

"What is that?"

"Any of the unicellular, prokaryotic microorganisms of the class schizomycetes, which vary in terms of ..."

"Okay," I interrupted. "I understand exactly. I'll save every article I find about unicellular prokaryotic schizomycetes."

While I was perusing the newspapers for articles about schizomycetes, Cara called again.

"Mom," she said. "The CEO of Baxter is coming tomorrow. Bubba says I have to meet him and I don't know what to say."

"Just smile as you give him a firm handshake," I prompted her. "Wear your black suit and he won't notice the bear, uh, I mean, rat hairs."