I wouldn’t say that the Fancies are really animal lovers other than in the most basic, carnivorous sense. In that way, we are rather equal opportunity. But when it comes to household pets, no thanks. Not really into saving the tree frogs, spotted owls or the endangered animal du jour either. You get the gist.
Anyhoo, one of my least favorite critters on the planet has to be the pigeon. Which is a serious problem for someone who calls New York and London “homes.” (Okay actually we really live in London. But like all good Manhattanites, I still call it “home” and probably always will.”) Back to the pigeons.
The pigeons in London are both fascinating and horrifying. In New York, well you’re used to seeing hundreds of relatively scrawny looking birds, duking it out in Union Square for a few scraps of Chipotle. The missing toes, the oddly poking out feather, it all seems normal after a while. New York pigeons are true tough city birds.
The birds over here, on the other hand, crikey. It’s like London pigeons didn’t get the message that they are actually flying rats. They parade around all full of themselves, stuffing their fat faces until they can barely fly. I’m not lying when I tell you that my entire terrace shakes when a pigeon touches down at Chez Fancy. They are like huge fucking chickens, these things.
So that brings me to my point. First thing this morning I poured my coffee, threw some Cheerios on the floor to keep the Minis entertained and started scrolling through my blog list. And what do you know. Super Amazing Mum was confessing her deep fear of birds and preparing us for tomorrow’s tale of the most uncivilized of avian attacks. And she inspired me to share mine. (Should we make this like a Gallery? When birds attack?!)
New York City. Mr. Fancy and I were a relatively new item and I had gone out shopping for something fabulous to wear that evening. Exiting Zara on 34th (yes, it was the PreFancy days. Although I admit that I still do stop in there for “disposable” items like tshirts.), I felt a warm splat on my head. Not sure why I needed to reach up and confirm it, but yes. As you imagine.
I muttered the appropriately chosen words, grabbed some tissues from my purse and did my best to mop up the mess before pulling on my hat and heading down the hill towards home. Shopping was clearly over. Except then I passed a Staples. Remembering that I needed some paper for my printer, I decided to make one last quick stop before that necessary shower. It would only take a second and was on my way. Efficiency matters you know.
So what’s worse than having a pigeon shit on your head? I’ll tell you. It’s having a pigeon shit on your head and then see the person in front of you in line at Staples start sniffing around.
“Does anyone smell a bird? It smells like birds in here. Seriously, do you smell it?” he asked me.
"Uh. Nope. Can't smell a thing," I quickly replied, throwing my cash on the counter and racing for the door.
A very, very UnFancy Moment in the Life of Frau Fancy. You’re welcome.
