Yesterday, I stopped by the DG to pick up some necessities. (OK. One little packet of Peanut M&Ms because I was DYING from deprivation. I'd been home from the conference 3 days and had not eaten any junk, and my system was in shock. It was a medical emergency, or I wouldn't have stopped because, as you know, I have scads of willpower. Scads and scads.)
As I walked toward the door, I heard what seemed to be an elderly lady calling from somewhere in the parking lot, "Hello! Hello!" as if to say, "Anybody hear me?"
The first couple of times, I kept walking because I thought she was actually talking to someone else. By the 3rd or 4th time, I stopped and turned toward her voice only to see a giant Macaw sitting in the window of a big ol' beat-up pickup.
The owner and I made eye contact, and with her cigarette hanging out of her mouth, she nodded to me and mumbled something to the bird.
No, I do not know what she said, and I do not want to know because it was creepy.
Now I ask you, what kind of a looney tune talks to animals?!
Oh, that kind, to the left. Yeah. Well then, what kind of looney tune talks to animals AND blows second-hand smoke into their faces? A creepy looney tune.
For a second I thought she had trained the bird to take a drag, and I couldn't stop staring, but then I remembered, "Chocolate is near" and went inside.
So I picked up my candy and stood in line, and the guy in front of me said, "Did you hear that squawking thing out there? That thing's a giant. I hope they have it tethered down! Hahahahaha."
The cashier laughed, and then another customer embellished the 1st guy's remark with something like, "That's disgusting, having that bird sit there like that. You know it poops ..." to which Guy #1 added a remark, and so on. You know, banter.
And then, rising from the other aisle came a reverberating deadpan reply, "That's MAH burrrd." (Translated: "That's MY bird.")
Guy #1 just stood there, and I thought maybe he needed a translator, and I was about to whisper, "That's his bird," but then he said, "Oh. Wow. That's a beautiful bird."
Nice comeback, Mr. Backpedal.
The owner gave Guy #1 the evil eye and never said a word but eyeballed him all the way out of the store.
I just wanted to say, "Move on, folks. Nothing here to see. Move on now," like a cop because I just wanted to get out of there and eat my M&M's.
Jorge and I were putting out some annuals last night, and someone at our intersection yelled, "Hey, Crows!" and so we raised up and waved and saw that the yeller was a fellow-church attender. So we of course threw up our hands in response, and as he zipped past our house, he yelled, "Linda! I'm buying your book!"
Jorge looked at me as I slapped my forehead. This book thing has gotten out of hand.
I did not write a book. I wrote a paragraph which is in a book. But I am signing a book Sunday for one reason: Cash. Compensation. Moola.
Still, everyone is under the impression this is my debut novel or something. How embarrassing.
People, you know this book signing is going to bad. Really bad. And that will mean one thing: blog fodder.
So have you been yelled at lately by someone other than your spouse or a Macaw?