When I walked from the bathroom into the hallway I heard chirping sounds coming from my bedroom/ office.
How’d a bird get into the house? Why weren’t the cats tearing the place up to get it?
No more bird sounds when I walked into the room. Not a single peep and no bird in sight, until I walked into the living room.
Chirp.
How’d it get past me without hearing the flutters from its wings?
I clapped my hands, stomped my feet and yelled.
Nothing!
Other than yawns from both cats.
Chirp. Chirp.
I looked around.
Chirp.
Holy cow!
The noise was coming from me. It happened when I clinched my paid-for bottom teeth.
Funny for a minute, or two, then I went back to packing my bags.
The next morning I was off to Shawnee for a newspaper convention. Fa-la-la! Fun with newspaper buddies. Made it this year without getting lost, and in time for a meeting and lunch. Checked in later, and the first room they gave me was already occupied, but that’s another story. Finally got to my room and the young bellman started unloading my stuff from the cart.
“What was that?” he asked.
“What?”
“That sound,” he said.
I clinched my teeth.
Chirp. Chirp.
“There it is again,” he said.
“I don’t hear anything.”
Chirp.
“You didn’t hear that?” he asked as he looked around the room when he put my hang-up clothes in the closet.
“No, didn’t hear a thing.”
“I’m sure I heard something. You didn’t bring a pet did you?”
I unclenched my teeth, laughed and said, “Of course not. Thank you,” and gave him an overly generous tip so he’d leave.
Getting old is costly, but beats the alternative of not getting old. It also helps if you’re able to laugh at yourself, or that’s what this old bird believes.