Last week, I was waiting for the bathroom to warm up and staring out the window at the chicken coop, where one hen was scratching outside of bounds. At first, the sight was a little confusing. I wasn’t sure what that girl was doing, though I could see her and was sure I shouldn’t be able to because I don’t actually have xray vision and can’t see through chicken coops. The people of the chickens say there’s one who shouts, “PAPILLON!” and goes over the wall all the time, so: okay. Then I took a shower. It was a good and thorough shower in which I lathered my entire epidermis, later slathering it with moisturizing goo, making me feel rather well. Then I looked out the window again and discovered two more chickens going on the lam.
I called my sister Anya.
Anya: Hey! What’s up? That thing you said on Facebook was SO FUNNY when pronounced in the original Middle English!
Anya: The three-part harmony was very niiiice, not to mention the day-glo tulips –
Tata: I have to tell you a thing.
Anya: You do?
Tata: I do. It is this: the chickens are loose.
Anya: Is that code for something?
Tata: No. The chickens are actually loose.
Anya: By that, do you mean they are badly assembled?
Tata: Nope. You know your friend I don’t speak to? Call her and tell her her chickens are loose and making a break for it. You might want to hurry.
About five minutes later, She Who Is Not the Boss Of Me ran down her back steps and wrangled some hens, while I returned to my cramped schedule of smelling great and admiring my luminous, soft skin. Because I am so awesome.