it had all the ingredients for a perfect sunday afternoon: a tigers game, a bottle of chateau chantal, a bottle of our old friend chuck , the best steak sandwiches b has ever made and no work to do. but then it happened. b reached that predictable stage when he's a little buzzed where he says, hm, how about a cigarette?
so out onto the balcony we go, after i have adequately pounded on the sliding glass door to make sure there is no pigeon hanging out behind the table top we have leaning against our balcony wall (the pigeons were landing on the table, so we just took the top off). nothing. b follows me out, and i ask him to scooch the table top back a little further, because apparently the 3" gap we inadvertently left between the table and the wall was not too small for the pigeons. obviously, you see where this is going. he picks up the table, and there is obviously a pigeon back there.
after regrouping (and hoping that the neighbors didn't hear me scream like a girl) (actually, who cares? i am a girl.) b decides to go back out, knock the table down and scare away the pigeon. i, of course, am concerned he may get a serious pecking, as is he, so he suits up. jacket, vest, hat, gloves, the whole nine yards. no one is pecking my beautiful husband, oh no. i gave him a quick kiss, told him good luck, and sent him into the battle field. he used the end of a broom to knock down the table top, and the pigeon scrambled but flew away. and then we saw it: the nest.
even fricking better.
so now obviously the pigeons are PISSED. daddy pigeon, we realize, has been sitting a couple balconies over this entire time. he's giving us the evil eye. and swearing at us under his breathe. meanwhile, b keep saying, if only we were italian, they'd be goners.*
at this point, i'm ready to throw in the hat. by that i mean, take our wine down to the courtyard and have a cigarette down there. and at first, b was with me. but as we're about to get on the elevator, he turns back.
dude, i'm just going to throw that nest away. i'll go out there, throw it in a trashbag, and be done with it.
are you KIDDING me?
no, i'm going to do it. or at least smash them or something so the pigeons will stay away.
ok, gross. no. what if the pigeon sees you?! they're going to peck the shit out of you. seriously.
s, you're being ridiculous. they're not going to peck me.
yes they are.
no they aren't.
yes. they. are.
ok, maybe they are.
let's just tell the management. we pay enough in rent for someone else to deal with this.
s wins. s also hopes that none of the neighbors have heard this bizarre argument that we've just had in the hallway from their apartments.
sitting down in the courtyard, we positioned our chairs so we could see our balcony. and it didn't take long before the pigeons started circling. eventually, momma hopped back onto the balcony, we hoped to kill the eggs and then leave, since we'd tampered with them or some shit. but no.
we got back to the apartment, and she was there sitting on the nest, daring us. we banged on the door a couple times, and she just yelled in to us, FUCK OFF ASSHOLES.
right after she called us assholes, b started to feel a little bad about the whole situation.
s, are we, like, impeding nature or something? i mean, she's just a bird with her eggs.
no we are not. nature doesn't count if it's gross. and that's gross.
*b has recently learned that italians eat pigeons.