Good Morning!

Not much to report over here, other than that I was almost attacked, blinded, and murdered yesterday. NBD.

Okay, okay, I might be speaking out of my irrational fear, but let me set the scene:

Off and on for at least a week, we’ve been hearing birds very loudly chirping. Like, incessantly chirping. Like, maybe they’re fighting or something? kind of chirping. But, whatever, eventually they fly away.

The Hubster said that one day he was sure they were in the house they were so loud, but they weren’t. Just so we’re clear.

Monday morning, I hear what he must have heard, and it sounded like it was coming from the front porch. I padded over in my slippers (pretty much like this:

)

and I saw two tiny, teeny, hoppy little birds. Like the ones that are just cute and little. One was sitting on the window ledge above the front door, and the other was somehow perched on the brick that hangs down from the roof and creates the little porch area. I’m not describing it very well, but I’m probably mentally scarred forever.

I banged on the front door and the one sitting above the door flew away but circled back and landed again. I didn’t think much of it and didn’t want to keep banging on the door and risk waking up The Hubbit, because I’m a super and considerate wife. Anyway, I noticed they had somehow managed to attach sticks and leaves to the brick and it dawned on me that they’re building a nest. Which is just so stupid, and it defies the laws of physics, and whatever. Stupid birds.

They were gone by the time I left for work on Monday, and I forgot about them until I came home Monday evening. I walked to the front door and one of them flew out to the yard, coming very close to my head. I was kinda freaked out, but more like, “Oh, guess they’re hanging out here.”

Then.

Then.

THEN. Yesterday morning, I hear them chirp-fighting and look, and the nest is bigger but still looks just like someone stuck some little natures on the brick, and the birds are there, doing whatever they think they’re doing. I go about my business and get everything ready for work. I peek out and don’t see them anymore, so I open the front door to leave, and one of them dive bombs me, bird-screaming at my face. I slammed the door and I was kinda worried I hit the bird or crushed it or something, but I didn’t hear anything weird.

Now, if you know me, you know I’m terrified of birds. Monday, I drove past two vultures on the shoulder of the freeway (OMEN??!???) and I almost vomited and maybe cried a little. Pretty much anything other than cute, hoppy birds can get the heck away from me. It’s irrational and probably bordering on a phobia. I’ve gotten better as I’ve gotten older, but if I’m particularly tired or stressed, I react more strongly to birds.

Anywho, you can probably imagine how I felt. I gathered myself and went out the garage door, and all was fine.

Except I have murder birds guarding my front door. And they’re here now. I can hear them. I hate them.

I think we’ll eventually knock down the nest before they lay their eggs. Stupid birds. Put it on the back patio area, and no one would care. We never go outside and see the sun. Sheesh. But if they’re going to be hostile attack birds, then that means like no one can ever come to the door. If they’re this bad now, imagine after the eggs are laid?

Anyway, that’s my life. Hiding from a four-inch tall pair of birds. Using the garage door. Okay.

I hope your Wednesday’s less dramatic than I’m making mine.

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