Shriekin' like a girl...

So, I was bringing down Alison's running shoes from our room and putting them in their rightful place in the car-hole. I opened to door to the garage and tossed the shoes onto the mullet-wig that sits by the shoe pile.

And I heard a squeak.

It sounded kind of like when you squeeze the nose of a clown (and don't act like you don't squeeze the noses of clowns...it's unbecoming). And, as far as I knew, Alison wasn't hiding any midget clowns (there shouldn't be any other kind...even though midgets don't exist) under the mullet wig, so that couldn't be it.

I reached over and grabbed the wig, and a bird hopped out!

And, boy oh boy, did I scream. I screamed like a grounder was coming at me at third base. I screamed like I was in...um...Scream. I screamed like a those guys behind me at Scary Movie. (I actually went to Scary Movie and had two black guys who were total stereotypes sitting behind me...and it was faaaaabulous).

Hmmm...maybe I should be more of a man and not scream when I see a bird. Humph...