I was enjoying a perfectly lovely evening a few nights ago. Sharing the hassock with my one and only, when out of the wayward blue, he turns to me and says, "I need you to help me clean out the chick box."
Clearly he'd forgotten the 'chicken pterodactyl incident' of the previous week. Have I neglected to mention the 'chicken pterodactyl incident'? The one in which Prince Charming dropped a cardboard box filled with chicks on my lap in the truck, then patted my head and smiled sweetly at the naive city-girl's idea that perhaps the box should be covered, lest the birds fly out. Do I really need to explain what happened? BINGO! One of them flew out. While we were driving. Wings flapping in my face. Beak open in attack mode as it went for my eyes. I'm screaming, "It's out!! It's out!!" He's laughing at how funny they are. The kids are both clambering for a chance to hold them in the car. Ahhhh....Fun for the whole family. He reached over, put it back in the box and dropped a towel over the top to prevent any more fly-aways. But that was it. The chicks and I were done. I haven't spoken to them since, sooooo "I need you to help me clean out the chick box" had to have been part of some candid camera thing, I was pretty sure.
I turned to him and kind of squinted my eyes. "What?....Not right now?" I asked. I guess I didn't so much ask that, as just make that statement. Not right now...as in not now, not ever, not my thing.
"No," he said. "We can wait until the news is over."
"I can't. I'm busy."
Puzzling over that, he squinted back at me. "Doing what?"
"Well, this glass of wine isn't going to drink itself, now is it?"
Shaking his head at me, he countered with a fairly stern, "No. You can help me."
"I can't. The kids might wonder where I am."
He looked me straight in the eye. "No, they won't."
I sheepishly rolled my eyes. "Fine. I didn't want you to find out," I said. "I'm allergic."
He stood up, grabbed my hand and totally called my bluff. "No, you're not. Come on. Let's go."
He walked me down the hall while I tugged away from his firm grasp on my wrist.
"The sawdust irritates my nose!" I said.
He pulled me down the stairs while I dug my heels into his calves.
"Their wings freak me out!" I yelled.
He dragged me toward the door while I clawed and scratched and kicked and screamed and made every desperate attempt to pull away from him.
"I DON'T WANT TO GO IN THERE!"
Turning the knob, he said simply, "It'll be fine."
He pulled me into the room behind him. I immediately threw myself up against the wall. Keeping my spine against the plaster, I inched my way around the perimeter of the room.
"Don't make any sudden moves," I warned him. "Chicks don't like sudden moves." Maybe it's lions, I can't remember.
I kicked an empty box at him from across the carpet.
"Are you kidding me with this?" he asked.
"Just put them in there and get the lid back on or I'm outta' here."
As I held my breath, he picked each one up, squawking and flapping, moved them from their cardboard box home into a temporary cardboard box home, then topped them off with the chicken-wire laced frame. I took a few steps away from the wall and peered down at them. They were all gathered together at one side, just looking up at me. This giant, freaky city girl. Fine.
"Can I get my camera?" I asked.
"Whatever......chicken."
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