Today, I want to talk about my completely irrational fear.
I’m terrified terrified of birds.
I don’t like the flapping and the feathers and the beady eyes and the pecking and I’m shaking as I type this.
I refused to eat eggs (not incorporated in something like scrambled or fried) for years because every time I tried to, I would imagine the feathers and the flapping and I couldn’t.
Yes. This is crazy.
I can’t help it.
In December, after we got home from Buffalo when my Dad got hurt, I was standing in the kitchen talking to The Hubster and I looked into the other room and saw a bird standing on my Peloton bike.
Me: There’s a bird on my Peloton!
Me: (louder and more panicky) There’s a bird on my Peloton!
Me: (yelling) THERE’S A BIRD ON MY PELOTON!
Hubster: Yelling isn’t going to make it go away.
We walked into the other room and when I saw it was flying around, I did what made the most sense and laid on the floor of the dining room.
The Hubster cornered it in our upstairs guest bathroom and shooed it out the window.
I called my Mom afterwards to tell her about the bird and get a status update about my Dad.
As I’m telling her about the bird, I was like “I hope it didn’t bring a friend.”
No joke…as I said that, a bird flew out of our Christmas tree past my face and into the dining room.
I shrieked, ran into the room opposite the bird, threw a blanket over my head, and hung up on my Mom.
Here’s a picture of the offender and I’m freaking out a little looking at the thing.
(Clearly I have a real fear.)
The Hubster took care of that one, I called and apologized to my Mom for ruining her hearing, and we went about our business.
Then on New Year’s Eve, The Hubster took this video because ANOTHER ONE GOT IN.
Since we had company over, I couldn’t freak out like I wanted to, because company manners.
But I was losing my !@#$ inside.
We could not figure out how these birds were getting inside.
We have checked every single opening to the house and diligently closed the doors.
The birds have been living in the wreath.
So when you open the door, they’re already inside the house and fly out of the wreath inside the house.
That wreath is now garbage.
How long have they been living and pooping in that wreath?!?
The Hubster thinks that my fear is irrational (it is) and that I should go to immersion therapy to fix it.
I’d die of a panic attack.
So tell me you guys have irrational fears too…it’s not just me!