Splurge

I was sitting in a tree with my hands folded neatly into a crane when I happened to happen upon a happy little bird with golden wings. Interrogating the bird for some minutes, I came to the conclusion that it wasn't capable of answering back or comprehending my speech or hand gestures or knowing winks, so I pulled the pulley that held me aloft safely in the tree and raised myself higher into the branches. To my surprisingly serpentine surprise, the beak-laden bird flapped its flappers and followed me to my new carefully cautionary coordinates and perched precariously on my nose, where it proceeded to chirp excitedly and dig its claws innocently into my flesh.
"Hello," it said suddenly. My eyes widened eerily and weeped with not tears but wonder.
"Hello," I replied uncertainly, half worried that I was the subject of some cruel practical joke.
"So, how's things?" the bird seemed to ask.
"Um," I began nervously, "good, I think. How about you?"
"I'm marvelous," said the bird.
"Yes," I agreed. "You certainly are."

We wed the following year on a clear April Autumn day in a cheap chapel by the lake. Kids weren't possible, unfortunately, so we adopted a baby bird and a human. I was sitting with my lovely wife on the veranda and briskly brushing her beautiful golden feathers with a feather duster. She turned her glorious beak, and, by rights, the rest of her head, to face me on that lovely morning on the boards.
"Isn't life disappointing?" she said.