It all began with a chicken. Well, actually, it all began with an orange*, but this part of the story begins with a chicken. A small ceramic chicken that was a gift from my parents to me. For my collection.
self: Um, gee, thanks, guys! A chicken…
mom: For your collection!
self: Oh, yeah! My…what?
mom: Well, your father decided you needed to collect something. So we bought you a chicken.
dad: [nods emphatically]
This then multiplied to a flock (a cluck?) of chickens. The most recent came as a house-warming gift and was the straw (feather?) that broke the camel’s back.
self: I don’t WANT to collect chickens!
mom: yes you do!
self: Are you mental? I think I’d KNOW if I wanted to spontaneously collect figurines of flightless domesticated birds! What the hell am I supposed to do with a bunch of ceramic chickens?
dad: talk to them!
self: [bangs head against counter, slowly oozes to floor]
At that point, it became war. We had given my parents a key to the new house, and came home the next day to a suspicious absence of chicken… until they started turning up. In the dryer. In the medicine cabinet. Every time I opened a door, I cringed in anticipation of a beak in the dark. After several days, I rounded up ALL the chickens and dumped them in a basket, abandoning them in the one room we haven’t unpacked yet…a horrifiying seething combo of office furniture, computer stuff, spare home decor, craft supplies and laundry called the Disaster Room. Those chickens were as good as gone.
Or so I thought.
There came a time recently when my mom called and requested the return of a disk of programs she had loaned me several months ago. I promised to dig it out and leave for her to pick up, and completely forgot. I was at work when she texted, asking if she could go get it. I explained that the disk was really easy to find…I’d conveniently left it in a spindle of blank CD’s but that the spindle was on top of a box of computer stuff and hard to miss. She trooped right over to my house and texted me when she found the CD:
mom: got it, thanks.
self: Yay! I was worried you had gotten lost in the disaster room…oh SHIT.
self: Um, are you clucking for any PARTICULAR reason?
mom: Why, yes!
self: Crap. There had better not be a chicken in my underwear drawer or I’m going to be very upset.
The basket? With the incarcerated chickens, hidden from my parents? Was right next to the box of computer stuff. I have NO idea what I’m up against when I get home, but I think it’s not going to be good.
*(to be continued…at which point I’ll hopefully explain about the orange)