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Dogbonomy
You have no idea what kind of willpower it took not to kill the parrot.
It's not that the thing was talking or anything, this might have been one of those non-talking parrots. Can parrots talk anyway? She thought that was... well, not parakeets, but she'd always called them parakeets. (Knowing full well, of course, that she was mis-referring to the bird.)
So she thought that was parakeets, of the non-parakeet version.
The bird two-stepped again, clacking its' claws on its' perch, and doing this bobbing thing with its' head. It looked vaguely like Susanna Hoffs doing 'Walk Like an Egyptian.' Not literally, of course, as she had brown hair and this, well, this was a parrot. Parrots don't have hair.
She was sitting there, in this paisley explosion. "An explosion in the paisley store," she thought, but then immediately thought that that was a stupid thought to have, as what the hell's a paisley store, anyway. "There are no stupid thoughts, only stupid... well, no, there are stupid thoughts. Including this one," she thought.
She had her hands folded in a demure manner in her lap.
The glass of water which had been offered by his mother sat there, dripping on a lacquered wood side table. There was no coaster.
Aside from the parrot, that was the one thing that had surprised her. She would have definitely assumed there'd be coasters, what with the coaster-suggestive decor and everything.
She expected his father to wander through the room at any moment, holding resting an open book on one arm while he puffed on a pipe and stroked his chin, occasionally reaching down to straighten his smoking jacket.
Which was a nice expectation to have, but she knew it wasn't likely. His father was a former world champion sumo wrestler, and still liked wandering around the house in his diaper-thing they wear.
The fact that his father was a slight man of all of about five feet, seven inches, she didn't think this story was entirely likely. It was possible it was just a cover up for his father's weird habits.
"What the hell is the point?" she thought.
This wasn't particularly connected to anything, just something she thought occasionally.
She ran her fingers along the glass of water, sending water spilling down beneath and on to her hand. She thought she could feel the very slightest of goose pimples forming under the skin under the drops of water, which were now ceasing to be drops and resembling... squished drops. She figured it must be that her gravitational force was greater than the glass of water.
So she got up, again, not particularly connected to anything.
She walked over to the bird's perch.
And she proceeded to shake out her hands all over the stupid bird.
disclaimer:
Hey kids, enjoy this week's issue, a break from our longstanding novel fixation of the last few weeks.
As a favour to ourselves, the entire office has next week off, and is heading to probably break a leg or two somewhere in the snow near Lake Tahoe! Woohoo!
See you next week, unless we get eaten by Yeti, out on holiday from the Himalayas.
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