You know the kind. The one where you’re outside on a day that is (finally) not hot enough to melt steel, watering your half-dead tomato plants and refilling your birdfeeders. Listening to the pleasant chirping of the birds in the trees while scooping the seed to top off the feeder that is half full, you notice a little something sticking out of one of the holes in the bottom of the feeder. It looks like a couple of feathers.
At the exact same moment that you wonder why feathers would be sticking out of the birdfeeder, you realize that it could possibly be that a bird crawled into the birdfeeder. So you tug gently, hoping, hoping, hoping that a feather just landed there. Nope, there’s resistance. You holler EEWW and take down the birdfeeder, heading to the trashcan to dump out the seed and the sad little bird remains. As you get there, you realize you don’t want to just dump it in the trashcan for fear the little corpse would hit the garbage man on the head, and spray him with seed as he empties the trash, and although you’d set the alarm to see that on Thursday morning, you realize that is not the thing to do. Besides, you don’t want to see the tiny carcass, you just want to knock it out of the feeder, hose it off and get back to the business of feeding the birds.
You decide to dump everything, seed and stiff, into the lined trashcan sitting next to the grill. You close your eyes and turn it upside down. Seed pours out, and you check to see if the little cadaver is lying in the trashcan. No. You glance back into the feeder and there it is. Stuck. A perfectly preserved little bird, wings outstretched and very dead. Stuck. No matter the shaking, tapping, squealing, and maybe cursing, will get the thing to let loose. So you throw the whole birdfeeder casket away and run into the house to wash, wash, wash your hands with Borax.
As you calm down, you decide to text your husband to let him know you’ve suffered a calamity. To make him aware of the severity of the situation, the text consisted of the universal sign for the gross and unexpected, “EEEEEEEEWWWWWW!”
Does he phone you immediately to check on your delicate sensibilities? NO. Does he text back to ask what is the matter? NO. He texts the following, “Pictures! I want to see pictures!!”
It is now you realize your husband is a dork.
Then you put on gloves, go to the trash bin to take pictures of the dead bird stuck in the birdfeeder to send to your husband so he has something to talk about at the water cooler.
You ever have one of those days? No? Just me, then.