Dear Professor Parrot, |
would be the weekend her pen pal sweetheart came a-calling. He was a
G.I. coming home from the Big One, a fellow she never had actually met. But when she opened the door to see him standing there on the porch in that big green uniform, her heart soared. He was an ugly sort... just right for her. She invited him in and they got to know each other over glasses of lemonade. It was love in the making. Then entered the lovebird. Ever doting on her precious bird, she brought the tender thing out for her long lost sweetie to see and hold. "It's a funny little thing," the army man said, poking fat fingers at the bird's beak. "Look at them skinny legs," the man piped, thumping the scaly grey limbs. "Kinda pretty, but me, I prefer cats," he guffawed. At that the lovebird had had enough, crunching the man's fleshy thumb in its beak, drawing blood and a titanic scream from the poor fellow. He jumped up, wildly flinging his hand, but the lovebird -- parrotdom's version of the Tasmanian devil -- held on tenaciously. The little bird only let go as the man went running out the door, hollering all the way as he passed from view up the street and over the hill. And that was the last time any man came courting Miss F. Already 39 when that incident occurred, she knew the bus had left without her. Last we heard she was still going strong... but still an old maid. Good thing she has her lovebird. |