Niall and Nonna (my mother) were embarking on a project to make peanut-butter covered pine cones as treats for birds:
Nonna: I think these would be a good gift, Niall. Who do you think would like one?
Me: Do you know any birds, Niall?
Nonna: [exaggerated sing-song:] Daddy! [turning to Niall:] Is that what I meant, Niall?
Niall: I know some birds. Like the green parrots!
Nonna: Daddy, what kind of birds do you think would like peanut-butter covered pine cones? Finches?
Me: Yeah, I think so.
Nonna: Sparrows?
Me: Short-beaked birds, yeah?
Niall: I don’t know any sparrows.
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And some parsing fun:
Me: [following the link above:] Oh, apparently the parrots around here eat cedar tree berries.
Niall: Seed? Like these seeds? Seed or tree-berries?
There are things that I miss since moving out of the San Gabriel Valley, but those fucking parrots are not amongst them.
gah, fucking fucking-parrot-hating parroting. hater.
It’s not so much a hatred of avians as it is a love of sleep, which said avians were constantly attempting to frustrate.