A Tale of a Monogamous Bird

In a simpler time, when AP exams and broken escalators didn’t exist, our love story begins.

Bob was busy pecking away at french fries a random toddler had spilled on the ground when it happened. The moment he had always dreamed about during his childhood. The event that would add meaning to his futile life and let him finally muster up the courage to leave his dead-end nine-to-five job to pursue his true calling as a masseuse, the experience that would propel him through his freshman comp essay at 1:00 a.m.

A few feet away from him, a gorgeous hunk of a flying rat began walking toward the pile of fast food.

There were hearts in Bob’s eyes. “I knew she was perfect! Only my one true love would appreciate the gold stuff like I do” he thought.

“Well, it’s time to bust out the ol’ moves,” he said.

He knew the courtship pattern very well. It ingrained into him since he was just a squab. He puffed up his neck, spread his tail fathers, and put on his sexiest face.

“No bird in their right mind can resist the glorious display of my iridescent feathers,” he thought.

Bob strutted over. “Hey girl,” he cooed. “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

Her Pigeoness didn’t bother to look up.

She started on the remains of Bob’s lunch.

“Well, obviously she gets a lot of attention from lesser pigeons,” Bob thought. “I guess my cooing doesn’t impress her that much. I’ll just have to prove that I’m way better than those fools. Get ready for my supercalifragilisticexpialidocious dance moves!”

A flurry of wings cut off his plans.

A rival, with brighter colors and a better puffed-up neck than him arrived. The upstart pushed past him. “Hey, beautiful.” that wannabe squawked out.

The dirtbag’s coos were like those of a songbird’s.

Based on his feathers, he worked in management, a.k.a one of those good-for-nothings capitalists who did nothing but order hardworking birds around all day. The love of Bob’s life preened her tail feathers.

“Darn my luck,” Bob thought. He slunked back to his job.