I am not Nature Girl. I do not hike through the woods—I hike through malls. I do not camp—my idea of roughing it is a no-name motel. It’s not that I don’t like nature, I do. I just like it from the air-conditioned comfort of a car, a house, or a Hilton. And since I am not one with the natural universe, I’m also not good with small creatures, furry things or bugs. Which made last Thursday a particularly awful day.
First, I had to hike up the steepest street in town. I do this for my butt. I’d like to see it shrink. Now the street I was on isn’t exactly the woods or anything, but it’s enough nature for me. Anyway, when I got home, one of my plants was buzzing. Now, I don’t do bees. I don’t like them. They don’t like me. We maintain a respectful distance from each other and, quite frankly, all of us are happy about it. But that iris was right next to my front door. I knew what would happen next. Those darn bees would escape from their hive or their Queen or their whatever and get into my house. So I did what any self-respecting, anti-nature girl would do.
I made my friend, who IS a nature girl, spray the iris with bug spray and dig out the hive. Hey, I’m not proud. I made my friend risk her life so I wouldn’t get stung. But I don’t feel bad about it at all. She LIKES nature and she isn’t afraid of bees. So it seemed natural to watch her spray the bees and dig out the plant while I watched from the safety and comfort of my living room window.
After the bees were gone and it was safe to leave, nature girl went home and I took a shower. So I’m standing around in the bathroom, doing the face massage that is supposed to make me look twenty years younger but really only makes me feel like an idiot for screaming “AUGH!” while vigorously rubbing my cheeks, when I hear a high pitched noise, followed by the sound of the screen door opening and then BANG! BANG! BANG! The bang bangs were followed by a dull thud.
Now, I’m no dummy. I immediately realized that I was in mortal danger. Right then, at that very moment in time, a rapist or burglar or both had entered my home intending to kill me. So, in the tradition of all good horror film heroines, I armed myself with my blow dryer and rushed to the family room. There I found a medium-sized bird beating its brains out trying to get out of a window that doesn’t open. My first thought upon seeing this was “wow, even the bird thinks those windows are clean.” My second thought was “I hope it doesn’t think this is a public restroom.”
And that’s when I stepped in the bird’s first, uh, offering.
After excessive amounts of swearing and foot cleaning, I realized the bird was silent again. Apparently, when you smack the window a few times, you have a tendency to pass out. So I decided to try to pick up the bird. The bird, unfortunately, decided to wake up right at that moment. I think my scream stunned it because it immediately left another offering on my carpet.
So I decided to call nature girl. Her advice was for me to roll up socks and throw them at the bird. I felt stupid, but I didn’t really have an alternative. So I took a wad of Junior’s dirty socks and started pelting the bird with them. After about five tries, I hit the bird right in the butt. He flew to the sliding glass door—which would have been great if I had actually opened it. He fell to the floor, stunned, in a pool of his own offerings.
So I gingerly stepped over him, opened the door and smacked him on the head with another sock. And the bird took off, out the door, clearly glad to be rid of Junior’s socks and me forever.
As for me, I learned a couple of things from my nature day. First, if there is a bird in your house, watch where you step. And second, a dirty, smelly sock previously worn by a dirty, smelly 14-year old boy can get rid of anyone.Add me to your rss reader | Become a Fan on Facebook!