I Was a Middle-aged Mouseketeer!

By the time I had had second thoughts, I was too far in to back down. It had come down to the final 7, and we were all in the green room waiting for the news.

Linda, the nail-biting blonde got the axe first and we all slumped in our chairs. Thank God. Linda was a passive-aggressive little pain in the ass and would have been beaten as soon as she wore the ears.

Marco didn't make the cut either, too ethnic. Too brooding. No one likes a James Dean Mouse. Some of the girls were bummed, though. He was dangerous. Plus he had a good dope connection. So, no Marco Mouse.

Finally it was down to us four - the effeminate guy, the cheerleader, the fatty with a heart of gold sidekick, and me, Grampa Mouse.

I was happy to be chosen, because let's face it, being a Mouseketeer is something to be proud of in life. Especially a first-timer at 40.

Our first show had me walking my dog in flip-flops and a grey bathrobe. I ended up downtown having a coffee at a donut shop while the other 3 Mouseketeers peeped in through the windows and made funny faces against the glass.

All this made it to the final reel of the pilot - which was cool because by then we all had our personalities down well enough to carry the season. A lot of the time the other 3 would band together and go have adventures without me, and there were always subplots about how they'd get in trouble and I'd bail them out with my older wisdom and knowledge. Then we'd all laugh and make jokey, twitchy movements with our Mouse Ears to end the show.

I don't regret any of it. I mean, to this day I can get a taxi because I can still do the whole Mouse Ear Wiggle thing. So that's good and all.