This morning I made plans to meet a friend for coffee after dropping the girls off at their Music, Art, and Drama camp. Because the girls and I arrived at camp early, I also arrived early to the coffee place where I was super excited to find outside seating. (I typically don’t do outside. BUT, with temperatures hovering in the low 70s, it felt like a fine idea.)
I ran inside (figuratively, obviously), grabbed an almond milk latte (my current favorite because: No Dairy), and then returned outside to choose a seat.
I went with this one.
Shortly after I sat down, a man with one leg sat at the table next to mine. I do feel weird referring to him as a man with one leg, but I didn’t hear him speak or see what he was eating, and he was with a friend so there was no real wiggle room for a casual Good Morning. (He sat facing my back, as most people tend to do (You other brothers can’t deny.), so it wasn’t long before he transformed into Fellow Outside Sitter.) I know that every person is so much more than a tag like Crazy Underpants Lady or Tattooed Neck Guy. Please know that I know that. (I’m sure I’ve been referred to as Old Bald Mom or Bad Eye Contact Weirdo Who Always Cancels on Plans. It’s fine.)
Anyway, one thing I love about this particular coffee place is the fact that the outside seating area is filled with polite little birds. Some people feed them. Some don’t. The birds will come up and look at you, and if you don’t toss a bagel crumb in their direction, they’ll scamper off to another table. (Sometimes birds scamper.) If you feed them? They’ll stay, until you STOP feeding them. Do I need to keep explaining this? I have a funny feeling that you already know how birds do. Birds have been behaving this way for YEARS.
One particular little bird was little. (And because I used the word Little twice in that sentence, you’re probably gathering that he was abnormally small. You are correct.) He bounced up to my table and because he was fluffy and could use only one of his legs, I ALMOST ran (figuratively) back inside to buy him a piece of toast. (Luckily, another man two tables over had more than enough bread crumbs for the birds, and it didn’t take long for Fluffy Little Guy to catch on to where the crumbs were coming from, or from where the crumbs were coming (if prepositional rules are to be followed). However, because this tiny little bird had a flat tire, I kept my eye on him. Because THAT’S WHAT A MOTHER DOES.
At around 9:00, my friend arrived. (For the sake of this story, let’s call her Alison. We reconnected nearly 15 months ago, and you can read about that here if you’re kicking back just wanting to read stuff. It’s a good story.) We sat and talked about not eating flour and how she’s exercising and I’m NOT exercising and family stuff and old times and as we talked, my little friend the little fluffy bird stopped by.
Me: Oh! That’s my favorite little bird. He’s just so fluffy! He looks like a baby. I love him and his sad little leg.
Alison: Is he using his leg at all?
Me: No. I wonder if he was attacked by a cat.
Alison (looking closely at my tiny fluffy bird friend): DOES HE EVEN *HAVE* A LEG?!
With that, we heard the scraping of a chair behind us. It was Man With One Leg. He and his friend had packed up their stuff and were leaving.
Alison and I immediately did that thing called Crazy Big-Eyed Lady.
It looks a little like this:
(That was the face I made a few years back during Meredith’s spelling bee finals. If you’re still in the mood to hang out with me, the story is here.)
I don’t think the man heard us. I really truly do not think he did. (Alison didn’t even REALIZE that Plaid Shirt Guy was the Man With One Leg until he got up to leave with his friend. See? Your Nutty Owl Dress Lady might be my Twinkling Biscotti Friend! The world is a magical place. So many different colors!)
After the feelings of mortification wore off, I started to giggle. (I giggle at funerals, too. It’s a nervous thing.) Pretty soon I was laugh-crying so hard that I had to run (literally this time) to the bathroom to wipe the (not so waterproof after all) mascara from my cheeks.
After composing ourselves, we walked down the road to the farmers market where I admired the heck out of a cobbler. (He was taking a break from mending shoes. HA HA HA! It was really a peach cobbler! I love words!)
12 thoughts on “Also, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure!”
I was a little worried about the wiping, until I got to the word mascara. Whew!! Excessive laughing has been known, in my family, to cause other things to happen.
I’m teaching my daughter about homonyms and homophones. It’s fun!
You are my favorite.
A few years ago I ran into a guy I’d had a serious crush on that never materialized into anything in spite of the Very Obvious and Awkward invitations and openings I offered (seriously practically THROWING my shy and awkward self at him). He was with a lady who was clearly very fond of him. After making chitchat we moved off in opposite directions and at that point I realized she had only one leg. I ended up sitting in my car howling because the first thought crossing my mind had been a very indignant “Seriously? at least I have 2 legs!” and I was horrified by my own extreme shallowness.
Oh my…I just had to tell my husband this whole post I was laughing so hard.
This is just…brilliant. It started out funny and I wasn’t expecting it to GO anywhere. LORDY girl! You do know how to spin a tale or live a life or something.
I always try to feed the little helpless birdy the most. I guess everyone does. At some point, evolution will step in and make helpless crippled birdy syndrome a survival advantage and then humans will die off and where will the birds be?
You rock, Mrs Pudding. Hilarious.
I am pretty sure that in several circles I am known as The Tall Bossy Mom With Glasses. So be it.
I have a cast, you know, and it’s starting to smell like SOMETHING.
But…but…I’m so worried now about that darned little birrrrrrrd! :-/
And I, too, was concerned where the wiping sentence was going. Yay for mascara! ;-)
Oh, and I’m sure I’m known as The Bitchy-Faced McBitcherson. But I’m really just thinking really hard! :-(
Ha Sir Mix-A Lot reference.
Hahaha! Love your story!
Yesterday I was in line for coffee, waiting patiently. Apparently I looked like I needed a joke. An old man approached me and said (this is not quite an appropriate joke–sorry) “Why were the Indians the first people in Canada?” I felt a joke coming so I said “I don’t know, why?”
“Because they had reservations!” Then he went on his way–strange little conversation….
Happy Chocolate Tuesday!
Also, when you said you ran for the bathroom, I thought it would be like me and you had to pee from laughing so hard–so glad you didn’t have that issue! :)
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