I didn’t want you to see what I was doing. I was making something for you. I bought a book and learned how to make a birdhouse. I’d never used a knife or a saw or whatever and I’d never bought wood or cut it or knew what happened when the saw hit a knot. It terrified me. I screeched and jumped across the room in the opposite direction of the wood. I was horrified of losing an eye or a tooth. It seemed to fly hard and fast enough to actually knock out my two front teeth. How would I work then? Imagine. I mean, what is the end result of losing my teeth? I don’t even want to think about it.
So I made a secret birdhouse. And it wasn’t very good. It really wasn’t. It was lopsided and the opening wasn’t big enough for a bird to go in. I guess maybe a baby bird could have gone in but he probably would be afraid to do it alone without its mother anyways. I mean, really… baby birds are sorta chicken shit.
So I made a secret birdhouse and I didn’t want you to see it. I also painted it very badly. The colour was a mess. Mustard yellow and purple and a weird teal colour. It was all I had. Paint isn’t easy to come by when you’re me. I don’t know why.
I just wanted to make you a present and hope that baby birds might want to get born there or that at least you might pretend to like it and hang it up in a tree where none of the neighbours would see it.
You laughed when I gave it to you because while I was making it you were in the garage making a doghouse that a dog could actually fit in.