the bird report
First of all, I hate birds.
So I have a friend who is experimenting with online dating. She went on a date last week with a man who had seemed promising over email. In person, he turned out to be a bit of a nervous nellie. He also turned out to be a person who has a lot of birds.
How many birds?
He has sixty finches in cages, IN HIS HOUSE. Inside it. Sixty birds inside. Not outside in an aviary. Living inside his house with him.
He used to have 100 finches, but 4o are gone. I don't know where they went, whether they're dead or they moved or what. And we'll never know, because she's never the fuck going out with him again, clearly.* Because one bird is a little creepy, a few birds are quite creepy, and sixty remaining out of a hundred birds is unbelievably-fucking-I'm-dying-about-it-I'm-buried-alive-I've-fallen-out-of-my-spaceship-into-the-oxygen-less-beyond creepy.
*However, if you're reading this blog and you're a woman with 60 finches and you feel that you might be the woman for him, send me an email and we'll find a way to get you together. I hope you're out there. I hope he finds his special, freaky, nervous, bird-loving lady.
Here's what I want to know, what I enjoy puzzling over:
What were the circumstances under which he bought these birds? How did he get to a hundred? Did he buy one of these birds, take it home, like it, and come back the next day for 99 more? Did he all of a sudden decide he was into finches and did he march into the pet store and ask for 100 of them on the first go? Did he buy one bird, then fifteen more, then another one, then fifty more, et cetera? And then how did he get back down to sixty? Did he bring home 100 birds, decide it was too much and then kill them off one by one until it felt right?
In conclusion, vomit.