Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Not quite the “unseen danger” our Ancestors faced…

Freckles, one of the evil, flying Muscovies.

  Good morning! Yes, it is TOTALLY true…every last friggin’ time I start getting all worked-up, freaked-out, bogged-down, or over-thinky about something, Life intervenes and reminds me of one, simple, solid fact; if I can’t find a way to laugh at myself, Life will find a way to let others do the pointing-and-laughing for me.

Our yellow hen lookin' all
 laid-back in the sun.
  I have birds. Oh, not just ANY birds like cute parakeets, sweet canaries, or even intelligent parrots. Nope! I have poultry. There’s the Yellow Hen (our lone survivor of the great Coon-zilla massacre of ‘13), our Turkey who thinks she’s a dog, the Geese, the evil, flying Muscovy ducks, and a million or more Bantam Chickens. And they ALL free-range. Because I’m an idiot.

  Since we're overrun with water fowl on a piece of property lacking any water attractions, three times a day we fill random feed containers, two wading pools, and a handful of LARGE drinking buckets which the geese immediately kick over in their attempts to keep the ducks from sharing. *sigh*

Roukia, our awesome
  My Offspring usually take on the afternoon and evening “fun,” but this week I’ve been braving the outdoors after sun-up, seeing as The Boy spent the week with his best friend and The Girl had to work. Which brings us to last night…

  There I was, earbuds stuffed in ears, age-inappropriate music BLARING, wandering about the yard looking for eggs. (OK, I wasn’t exactly “wandering.” I was more of a Zombie-shuffle-hips-twitching-head-bobbing gait with a little flat-chested-shimmy-to-the-music thrown in, all in knee-high, polka dotted mud boots. And light-weight WHITE pajama pants. Because I’m a fashion-forward thinker like that.) As I was saying before I so rudely interrupted myself, there I was, “wandering” the yard, looking for eggs. And I found one. Whoop! Whoop!

  I reached down to grab it, hips high in air, butt maybe-maybe-not swinging a teeny-tiny bit in time to the music, when the hairs on the back of my neck kinda stood on end like they do when something “isn’t quite right.” You know, that wonderful, left-over self-preservation instinct from our cave-dwelling Ancestors who needed it to alert them to unseen danger? Yeah, that.

  I slowly stood up and began to turn around…just as a jacked-up, MONSTER 4X4 pick-up truck flew past. Maybe it was the broad smiles on the inhabitants’ faces or the way the face of the passenger was pressed up against the window. Or maybe it was the way said passenger was pointing. Whatever it was, something was definitely “off”.

  As I wander off with my egg, contemplating the mysteries of passing motorists, I nonchalantly wiped the dirt from the egg-grab off my hand. Which would be about the time my under-used “light bulb” went off.

  While I had been busy dumping MUDDY containers of water, emptying MUDDY wading pools and using a MUD-covered hose to refill all things wet and bird related, I had also been busy wiping the MUD and wet off my hands in the universal manner of “my-hands-are-dirty-so-I’ll-wipe-them-on-my-ass-because-it-is-SO-much-cleaner-than-my-hands-because-it-is-my-ASS”! (Did I happen to mention light-weight, WHITE pajama pants?) (And I refuse to comment on whether or not “commando” was in effect.) (I was doing laundry, OK? Don’t judge me!)

  So all the while I was Zombie-shuffle-bouncing around, listening to age-inappropriate tuneage, feeling all sexy-like-Beyonce and stuff, in my one moment of doing something productive and picking up an egg, I ended up inadvertently quasi-mooning passing traffic with a twitching behind covered in skiddie-like mud smears.

  And hubby wonders why I’m nervous about going in public without a “handler“ when I can embarrass myself this much at home? Yeah…

  Yep. This IS the age-inappropriate song I was jammin' too. So whatdya think? Am I ready for So You Think You Can Dance?