Eating (With A) Crow

Last week I went through the MacDonald’s drive-through for a quick bite. Not wanting to be disturbed by passersby, I parked at the farthest corner of the lot, next to a tall hedge. With my window open to admit the sweetly scented breeze, I chowed down.

I hadn’t taken more than a couple of bites before a large crow flapped over and landed on top of the hedge. After inspecting me with bright black eyes, he flew down to perch on the curb. There he cocked his head and watched every movement of the burger to my mouth.

Recognizing a mooch, I shook my head and said, “Sorry, buddy. Bread isn’t good for birds.”

He hopped closer, still watching my burger like a hawk… or, more accurately, like a mooching crow.

I repeated, “Nope, nothing for you.”

Undeterred, he hopped closer and flirted some more.

When I finished my burger without sharing, he shot me a disgusted look and flew up to the top of the hedge again. But then I started eating my sundae.

Down he came to the curb again, turning his head coquettishly this way and that so I could admire his glossy ebony feathers. How could I possibly deny him a taste?

I chuckled and said, “Sorry, buddy. You’re a handsome guy, but I’m not giving you ice cream, either.”

As if he’d understood me, he puffed out his feathers and let out a barrage of angry caws. After he had thoroughly cussed me up one side and down the other, he departed in a snit.

Later, I was telling Hubby about my mercurial dinner companion. “I was a little worried that he might fly up into my window,” I said. “I wouldn’t want to tangle with that sharp beak.”

Hubby smirked. “Well, if he had, you could have hit him with your crowbar.”

It took me an instant, because I do actually carry a crowbar in my vehicle. But then the terrible/terrific pun exploded in my brain.

GROAN!

At least he didn’t suggest that I could have eaten my burger’s condiments with my pickle fork…

*

P.S. I just realized that you have to be a gearhead to get that last sentence. A ‘pickle fork’ is an automotive tool used to separate ball joints and tie rod ends.

P.P.S. I further just realized that if you’re not a gearhead, ‘ball joints’ and ‘tie rod ends’ are equally obscure. And now that I’ve completely over-explained it, maybe it would be better to just pretend I made a dirty joke about balls and rods. ’Nuff said.

Book 17 update: I’m on Chapter 51, and Aydan is in a desperate race against time to save someone she cares about. But is it already too late?

Getting The Goat

I’m on the road again this week, and one of my stops was my old stomping grounds in Calgary.  I don’t miss the city at all, but I sure have missed my wonderful friends.  We all got together for dinner, and after catching up with the last eight months of everyone’s lives the conversation turned to more general topics.

That is to say, the moral tone of the conversation plummeted like a rock pitched into a cesspool.

I was the unwitting instigator.  But really; it wasn’t my fault.  Much.

“So my friends were looking for a goat…” Jill began.

“Wait, what did you say?” I inquired.

“They were looking for a boat that was big enough to fit everybody into.”

“Oh!  I thought you said ‘goat’!”

Laughter ensued.  Then Mike, the usual shit-disturber, spoke up.  “Now every time you say ‘boat’ I’m going to think ‘goat’.”

Jill went on in the misguided hope that she might be allowed to finish her story.  “…so anyway, they wanted a boat and they were looking for a slip for it…”

The table erupted in bawdy speculation.

“A slip for the goat?  I didn’t know you could buy lingerie for goats.”

“Well, obviously it was a seductive goat if it would let all those people into it.”

“How many people can get into a goat, anyway?”

“Depends on how, um… accommodating… the goat is.”

I can’t remember whether Jill ever actually finished her story.  We were all convulsed with laughter, and the other patrons of the restaurant were eyeing us with expressions ranging from disapproval to envy.  (Or maybe it was all disapproval – I was laughing too hard to be certain.)  Oddly enough, the waiter seemed reluctant to return to our table after that.

We finally settled down, and Judy threw a pointed glance a Mike.  “You can dress him up but you can’t take him anywhere.”

Mike and I exchanged a glance at our T-shirts and jeans, and I countered, “You can’t even dress us up.”

I thought about suggesting that maybe next time Mike could throw on a sport goat over his T-shirt, but I decided it was time to put that topic out to pasture.  After all, people can only stand so many ba-a-a-ad jokes.

I parted from my friends reluctantly, with another warm and funny memory filed away.  And from now on a single word, either spoken or texted, will be capable of inducing paroxysms of laughter:  “Goat!”

Anybody else have a word or phrase that never fails to make your buddies guffaw?

P.S. I’m travelling again today so I’ll be checking in to respond to comments later in the day.  ‘Talk’ to you then!