Sometimes I wonder why I wake up covered with chicken feathers and have a metallic taste in my mouth, but by now I've learned to just roll with it.
The worst part is trying to get rid of all the feathers. I can't wash them down a drain, because mom would just call a plumber and--Surprise! How would I explain my way out of that one? I can't throw them out my window. Mom would find them in her garden when she's picking herbs or vegetables for lunch. Flushing them in small groups down the toilet seems to be my most promising alternative, but just getting from my room down the hall past my little brother and sister's rooms to the main floor bathroom is challenging enough.
Mom and dad always told me that I could talk to them no matter what.
I think I'll pass on this one.
No comments:
Post a Comment