I work very hard to maintain my image as a nice, wholesome person on this blog. But this post is about one of my more ogre-like tendencies: bird hating.
The weather is nice, and our air conditioner coolant is not working. Therefore, we’ve been keeping the windows open as often as we’re home (don’t tell any predators in my neighborhood). It’s also spring, which means that the birds are out in all of their chirpiness.
Sleeping in on Saturday is the highlight of my week; it’s the thought that gets me out of bed with the alarm clock on the other six days. It’s especially precious when I stay up past midnight on Friday watching old episodes of The Office.
Can you see where this is going? I was awakened early this morning by birds chirping outside my window. This sounds very idyllic and Cinderella-esque, and if I was a blonde, cartoon woman who liked to get up with a song of my own, this could be a melodic start to the weekend. However, it was 7:30 on a Saturday, and thoughts of harmonizing with my little birdie friends was the farthest thing from my mind. For the next couple of hours as I tried to keep sleeping, I kept awaking to think that the birds outside were lucky that I didn’t have a BB gun within reach.
Disclaimers: For all of you parents out there, I am already aware that considering 7:30 to be early is a luxury enjoyed only by non-parents. You don’t have to tell me.
Also, now that I am awake and well into my productive day, the chirping doesn’t bother me. So the bird-hating is not quite as grinchy as it sounds.