You might not think that these three things are related, but since when did this world start making sense?
I live across the street from a cemetery, and I often walk along it on my way to Target. Along my journey I spotted $10 just hanging out on the other side of the fence. I tried squeezing my arm through the bars, but they were too narrow and my strongs couldn’t fit. So I grabbed a stick and fished the money out. Convinced that I put in just the right amount of effort, I continued on to Target.
And then I realized that this $10 is probably haunted and I must spend it immediately to rid myself of any ghosts attached to it. A part of me believes that if I were to put it into my piggy bank that it would come alive in the middle of the night and oink at me. I can’t even tell you how serious I am right now.
Long story short, I wasn’t able to use the $10 as I paid with my debit card so I’m stuck with Satan’s money.
On my way home from Target, I noticed that traffic stopped to let a mama duck and her two ducklings cross the street. I stop to watch them and realize that they’re going to try to get in to the cemetery. If I can’t get my arm through those gates, there’s no way mama is getting in there. After some struggling, she finds a wider opening and hops in, leaving her two ducklings on the street, quacking after her.
Cue heartbreak.
Mama’s quacking on one side, the ducklings are baby quacking on the other. And here I am, thinking about the bedtime story my grandma used to tell me about the duckling that got separated from his mom and ended up on a farm cause the farmer wanted to fatten him up and eat him. (Moral of the story: always listen to your mother.)
There’s about a foot of concrete separating the gate from the sidewalk, so these ducklings have a challenge ahead of them. After much struggling, one of the ducklings throws itself through the gates. I try to scoot the other one near a lower part of the faux-curb, but naturally it’s terrified and runs in the other direction INTO THE FREAKING STREET. Baby duck! STOP THAT.
So I’m running this way and that way trying to get the thing through the gate, all the while terrified that mama duck is going to fly through the gate and bite my face off. I’m a baby quack away from crying, so I take out the books I bought at Target (Hunger Games, what?!) and made tiny stairs for the duckling. Again, I’m not even kidding. The duckling wasn’t having that though.
After what felt like four hours (but was really four minutes) of torture, the quacking stopped and the duckling made it over to the other side. HUGE FREAKING SIGH OF RELIEF. Now some of you are probably like “survival of the fittest” and stuff, but I’m pretty sure that Darwin never saw a baby duck or else he would have been like “HELP THE MOTHER-EFFING LOAD OF ‘EM! NO MAN LEFT BEHIND!”
I compose myself after realizing that all of Western Avenue was privy to my heroic adventure, which probably made me look insane. I pack up my Target bags and continue my walk home when all of a sudden I’m attacked by a butterfly. I’m pretty sure that was Darwin scolding me.
Moral of the story: Don’t steal money from cemeteries.
So, how’s your week going?
