Alfred Hitchcock’s “The Birds”

31 08 2008

Five days and twenty-three hours.

That’s how long it took those avian special agents to find my new car. With my old car, I could go for months without so much as a drop of their uric acid wonder touching my car, but, then. they probably sensed that I didn’t care about that car. That car had a nice protective coat of dirt, with just enough cleared away for me to see my way down the road. That car was a Jeep disguised as a Ford Focus. At least, that’s how I treated it. Every now and then, I’d nearly get us stuck way out in the middle of nowhere on a rugged truck trail with no help in sight. Once, we came upon a small creek crossing the road, where deer looked up at us as if to say, “What the heck are you doing here?” I saw the telltale signs of a high-clearance vehicle getting stuck, complete with the broken planks that had been shoved under the tires and the frayed rope tied to a stick that people used to pull it out. Never mind that the ruts it had carved were deeper than my wheels were tall. Yes, folks, I still attempted to pass. But that was the old car. Something inside me wanted to make this new relationship work where all the past ones had failed. Sure, when the newness wears off I’ll probably stop treating her like a lady, but, for crying out loud…

My car is not a toilet!

Fortunately, a wet rag was all it took to thwart the efforts of those cloacas with wings.

I mean, seriously, how would they like it if I tried to sneak up on them and do my thing on them? Yeah, not so funny anymore, is it?.

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