Two Fat Piggies
I.
Houston pigeons are getting fatter and fatter. I used to say that they crapped on my boyfriend’s car and not on mine because they know that I’m an animal lover and he’s the opposite of an animal lover. But then, this morning, outside Einstein Brothers Bagels, my son Josh was dismayed to see pigeon poop splash onto our Altima’s windshield. We looked up. Curled in the C of a nail salon’s sign was a fat, fat pigeon, beaking his mites and dripping poop on my car.
“You fat, fat pigeon!” I cried.
I don’t like to talk to pigeons like that, normally, but this one was just pathetic. I just know his bowels were running from the remnants of a bucket of KFC that he probably cannibalistically scarfed down. And bleached white flour. And refined sugar. And high fructose corn syrup. And maltitose, and that stuff in the fat-free potato chips that causes diarrhea.
Fat pigeons! Save yourselves! Fly away to France!
II.
We went to my latest fave restaurant for lunch. They have a bowl of fruit by the door and encourage you to take a piece as you leave.
I took a pear, meaning to save it for a 3 PM snack.
I ate it as soon as I got back to my desk.
