A Hint of Urban Fantasy
Aug. 13th, 2010 05:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
weirdletThe chicken raised its neck and shrieked at my touch, leaping from the counter with a flail of stubby wings and a raucous clatter of pans.
Lest you think I am in the habit of molesting innocent poultry, I would say in my defense that the bird in question was apparently dead at the time I reached in for its giblets. As in, decapitated, de-feathered, and on its way to de-liciousness after I'd gotten it stuffed into the oven.
The animated bird continued to caper on stumpy drumstick-legs, spreading salmonella all over my (well, I say my, but there's half a dozen other students in this house) kitchen. I looked sharply up- the clock on the wall said five PM. My boyfriend was going to be here in half an hour. My parents, forty-five minutes after that.
Punishing the guilty for leaking emanations from their homework would have to wait. I crouched down, tracking the bird with my eyes. Wait for the opportune moment, control my strength, and leap-
...
Have I mentioned that my father drives like a maniac? A skilled maniac, to be sure, but he can make the drive from the northern suburbs to downtown in about twenty minutes. Mom tolerates it, mostly by hanging on tightly and reading in the car.
Have I mentioned that my boyfriend is, in general, a helpful sort, and likes to arrive early just because he knows how much life conspires against a punctualist?
They all three walked in on me as I was grappling with the dead chicken, which was still beating at me with its stubby wing-bones and squawking as loud as it could with technically no airway passage. The kitchen was in shambles. Pans were still coming down from the overhead rack, although the thunderous clatter had subsided to an occasional clang. There was flour in the air in clouds and on the sidewalk outside the window and in my hair.
The three of them were staring at me after having been staring at each other whilst coming in the door. Dad was gripping his cane tightly. My boy was starting to turn towards me in concern.
"Mom, Dad! Tim! Uh- can introductions wait-"
At long last, my grip failed and the horrible little bird went bounding away to freedom out the open door. Like that, my boyfriend was off like a shot after it. I can't blame him. Some instincts are just too strong, despite your best intentions, and it was totally that phase of the moon, too.
"-a sec..." I finished, getting to my feet and starting to reach to brush the hair out of my eyes, before remembering the everpresent chicken-juice. Yech. Mom was looking about in mingled horror and repressed laughter. Dad was sticking with plain horror.
"I'll just- wash my hands first..."
Lest you think I am in the habit of molesting innocent poultry, I would say in my defense that the bird in question was apparently dead at the time I reached in for its giblets. As in, decapitated, de-feathered, and on its way to de-liciousness after I'd gotten it stuffed into the oven.
The animated bird continued to caper on stumpy drumstick-legs, spreading salmonella all over my (well, I say my, but there's half a dozen other students in this house) kitchen. I looked sharply up- the clock on the wall said five PM. My boyfriend was going to be here in half an hour. My parents, forty-five minutes after that.
Punishing the guilty for leaking emanations from their homework would have to wait. I crouched down, tracking the bird with my eyes. Wait for the opportune moment, control my strength, and leap-
...
Have I mentioned that my father drives like a maniac? A skilled maniac, to be sure, but he can make the drive from the northern suburbs to downtown in about twenty minutes. Mom tolerates it, mostly by hanging on tightly and reading in the car.
Have I mentioned that my boyfriend is, in general, a helpful sort, and likes to arrive early just because he knows how much life conspires against a punctualist?
They all three walked in on me as I was grappling with the dead chicken, which was still beating at me with its stubby wing-bones and squawking as loud as it could with technically no airway passage. The kitchen was in shambles. Pans were still coming down from the overhead rack, although the thunderous clatter had subsided to an occasional clang. There was flour in the air in clouds and on the sidewalk outside the window and in my hair.
The three of them were staring at me after having been staring at each other whilst coming in the door. Dad was gripping his cane tightly. My boy was starting to turn towards me in concern.
"Mom, Dad! Tim! Uh- can introductions wait-"
At long last, my grip failed and the horrible little bird went bounding away to freedom out the open door. Like that, my boyfriend was off like a shot after it. I can't blame him. Some instincts are just too strong, despite your best intentions, and it was totally that phase of the moon, too.
"-a sec..." I finished, getting to my feet and starting to reach to brush the hair out of my eyes, before remembering the everpresent chicken-juice. Yech. Mom was looking about in mingled horror and repressed laughter. Dad was sticking with plain horror.
"I'll just- wash my hands first..."
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no subject
Date: 2010-08-13 10:44 pm (UTC)Mothers have been there, gone through the embarrassment and connected with the wall of funny some time after their cheeks cool down. When you continue this (Please?), find out just how hereditary this is.