|Poor, homeless, defenseless bird, soon to|
be poisoned to death by my husband
and his "need" for new tires.
This is a well thought-out decision, and in no way a reflection of my potentially impulsive decision-making process. I have been thinking about it since at least 2:00 this afternoon...
My husband is somewhat less convinced, but his judgement is questionable, at best. He thinks we need to spend our money on new tires for our van. I mean, goodness. Isn't there enough pollution in the world? There are gazillions of homeless birdies out there, and he wants not only to deny one of them a loving home, but to add four rubber tires to the pollution of their precious environment. Thoughtless, and quite frankly, not what I'd expect from the wonderful man I married. I feel as if I don't know him at all. I hope no one thinks less of him after reading the conversation I've just had with him, via text message...
Me: Can I have a parakeet???
(Evidently he didn't take me seriously, because he didn't respond.)
Me: WHY YOU NO ANSWER?? I need a parakeet!
Scott: You no need parakeet. I just got to a stop. That's why I no answer.
Me: I can forgive your delayed response, in exchange for a parakeet. I need it to live. Do you *want* me to die?
Scott: Why the hell would you want a cat snack in the house?
Me: I don't think it's nice to assume that our cats are bird eaters just because they're cats. That's racist.
|My poor cat, who is racially discriminated against by my husband.|
Scott: You've seen Sunny at the window. That bird will last a week.
Me: That sounds like a guarantee! A guaranteed week of bird-filled entertainment!
Scott: Umm, no.
Me: You are denying a defenseless bird the warmth of my bosom. You are a bully. A cat-racist bully.
Scott: Where did all this come from?
Me: Probably not from anywhere neurotic or having to do with any mental health deficiencies. But
that is beside the point. This has been my dream for a long time. At least twenty minutes. Nothing else will make me happy. Don't you value my happiness?
Scott: Nice try. No bird. (Heartless. Cruel, heartless monster.)
Me: Can we get a sugar glider?
Scott: I think there are laws against those.
Me: Maybe. You're right. We should just get a parakeet instead. You're the best.
I mean, I think it's pretty safe to assume that I win, and I can only expect him to come parading thru the door this evening, gorgeous little birdy in tow, with an enormous cage, and loads of little birdy toys, including whatever that weird shit is that they like to gnaw on.
|Estimation of what my new bird will look like. Except mine|
will be way awesomer.