That Time I Found Out Mr. Man Would Rather Fight a Great White Than Own a Parrot

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I have bruises and scratches all up and down my arms. I wish I could tell you a story about sexy time on a kitchen counter or a bull riding competition or a really epic white water rafting trip, but the real reason is so much more embarrassing.

Earlier today, Mr. Man and I decided we needed a trip to a pet store. He really wants a shark or maybe another dog (both of which are sold nearby… I know, sharks? What the hell?) and even though I told him it was a dangerous idea, he contended that he fears nothing and off to the puppy store we went.
No, these bruises are not from him having to drag me away from the puppies, though that probably almost had to happen because it was like a cutegasm going on in there. Yes, I said cutegasm. Get over it!

Anyways. Apparently Mr. Man lied about this “fears nothing” thing.

So, there was this parrot. I was petting it because it seemed friendly and I like parrots and it kept bobbing it’s head the same way I do when I’m laughing at another’s expense, which made us bond immediately. Mr. Man joined me, petting the bird only after a moment’s hesitation. We were talking and I was refusing to leave because the parrot was just so darn cute, when it jumped on Mr. Man’s wrist.

Mr. Man didn’t like this. I think the bird sensed his unease because it started walking up his arm toward his head. That only made Mr. Man freak out more and he started ducking like he was going to fall into the fetal position at any moment. He finally whimpered, “Get it off me,” and I knew we had a problem.

I started trying to get the bird to go back on the peg. Mr. Man was continuing to cower, and the bird was bobbing it’s head like it’s really really happy. It even made little cooing sounds that would have been cuter in any other situation.

That’s when I realized it: Mr. Man is afraid of large birds. This is a problem, because I’m skittish around loud sounds, and this damn bird had both size and sound aplenty. So as I tried to rescue Mr. Man from the parrot dancing on his back, the damn thing was squawking as loud as it could and flapping it’s overlarge wings at me rather violently. It hit me, I stumbled back onto the cage, Mr. Man yelled at it, it tried to fly but can’t so squawked even more and started clawing at my arms and Mr. Man’s head. Finally, blessfully, a woman that worked there came and rescued us, saying the simple command “up,” to the damn thing and putting it back on it’s peg. Mr. Man and I froze as if saved from a train, then immediately felt pathetic. We ducked out of the pet store, nursing our wounds and hurt pride over cheesesticks.

And that’s how two adults lost a fight against a bird.