Prompt for March 6: The Parrot


[Prompt from .]

Squawk. “Call me maybe.”

I shuddered as those dreaded words assaulted me ears. The entire drive home from work, all fifty seven grueling minutes, I had been switching from radio stations to find a brief respite from that annoying song. However did it become popular, anyway?

Squawk. “Call me maybe.”

I clenched my jaw, as I threw my keys rather forcefully into the glass dish near the door of our apartment.
That damned bird always had something smart to say whenever I got home. If Georgia wasn’t the love of my life and didn’t have a strange connection with that thing, I’d have tried roasted parrot for dinner years ago.
Thinking of my beautiful Amazonian girlfriend and how happy she would be that I got off work early, I called out her name. The only response was the stupid bird telling me to call him maybe.

“Georgia? Where are you?” I called, looking into the different rooms for her as I systematically went through the apartment. “And why is your stupid parrot singing that stupid song?”

Squawk. “Call me maybe.” Squawk.

“Shut up!” I shouted at it.
I glanced in the kitchen and tried to stop the laughter bubbling inside me. There, in front of the microwave, was Georgia. She was clad in one of my old grey wife-beaters and her baby blue bikini underwear. That spot of blue was bouncing to and fro, a pathetic attempt at “twirking,” while she thoroughly cleaned the glass door with Windex. I heard her off-key voice belt out those deplorable lyrics before she turned around, still dancing. Seeing me watching, she did another interesting dance move involving a two-foot jump into the air, a yelp, and the releasing of the washcloth from her hand. A crimson red bloomed across her cheeks, over the bridge of her nose, and started invading her face, charging head on towards her blonde bangs.

I thought I could forgive that bird just his once.


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