Sometimes his fantasia got a little....too real. Hurrying to the bedroom, he would always pluck a feather from the gross feather flowers his Grandma gave him for the most recent Christmas past. The flowers he hated, the tickle he coveted. God, he wished he could work from home all the time.
If only he could find himself a bird whose feathers he could manipulate into performing morning delight upon his badly neglected beak. He just needed to be juiced by another human being. He'd been through the proverbial black book far too many times and he was smart enough to know that it was the same as the fridge - still the same as last time he looked. No new delights to be had.
Last Sunday, while he was enjoying his own company and right at the crucial juicing stroke, his Grandma phoned.
"Darling boy," she tinkered in her frail voice, "What can Granny get you for your birthday?"
His breathing thick and frustrated, not only with failure but also with the intrusion, he rudely told his Gran exactly as it was. "I want a bird to breakfast with. I want to beak her and ruffle her around until she lays her eggs in my hands."
His birthday card arrived in the mail. Surprised, he was, because after the way he disrespected his Grandmother he really thought their relationship was over. But, true to her nature of always giving a wanted gift, Grandma had included a voucher to Breakfast with the Birds at Rainforest Habitat. As an extra little bonus, Grandma had prepaid for two beakers of orange juice and the experience of her grandson cooking his own eggs, freshly collected from the aviary.