We’re under unofficial lock down here as both kids waffle between fevers, so I had to think of an outdoor activity without a lot of interlopers. What better place to go than our duck pond, the one by the library where no one ever goes?
Except today, when there was a mom and daughter there, saturating the less than hungry ducks (it was noontime, and hot) with white bread. And there I was, corralling M as he littered the ground with food and K as she tried to quack up a conversation, my irritation growing. How could they pick today of all days to be here, right now, sucking the life from the one event that was supposed to make our day of sickness and misery a little brighter?
But here’s the kicker: they were feeding the ducks white bread. While I, on the other hand, had wholesome cracked corn. Who really belonged, eh?
Yes, I stooped to duck diet condescension, the mother who once copped to feeding them Kix. That’s really precious, isn’t it?
I can chalk all this up to the fact that was both peed and vomited on last night, and that I’m running on less than three hours of sleep, and that I really love ducks. But yeah, I still feel badly.