I Sat on Frieda

Bless her heart.

It was one of those wrong place wrong time scenes gone terribly wrong. There I was, nearly twenty pounds my normal weight with a soccer ball in my stomach, lethargic after a long day. I had somehow managed to uncage the birds when I got home from work while I rifled through the pantry for snippets of dinner.

Too tired to eat any more, I wandered back to the couch to prop my fat feet up. I melted into the couch seat with the greatest of relief. But beneath me I felt a twitch, followed by a muffled shrieking. Strange, I thought. So I picked my bottom up slightly and rearranged my seat back into the couch. Again I heard shrieking, though this time I realized what happened. I couldn’t have gotten up any faster, trying against gravity not to ‘push off’ against the couch.

When I stood up, what remained was a scuffled parrot. Her mohawk all aflurry, feathers every which way, beak slightly parted. She ran in a very fast circle, hissing at this and that into the air. It was like a UFO had bopped her and she wasn’t sure where to direct her natural defenses. Her waddle was a little crooked and I freaked out, trying to examine her bone structure for breaks. She seemed relieved to have me hold her near, obviously completely unaware that I had nearly been her angel of death…twice.

She had fit so delicately into the seam of my bottom that I shutter to think what would have happened had her vocals not enacted.

However, I feel most badly for Fred, who she took out her sentiments on later (see picture).

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