“Oh, come on,” Sherry said. “We’re only going to be there for a little while.”
“No!” I said. “I hate parrots. They’re noisy and rude and I’ve already had too many bad experiences with them in my life.”
“She’s my friend,” Sherry told me. “I promised her we would come over because she is so proud of it. Now, you be nice to her.”
Half an hour later we were in the golf cart on our way to see Myra’s new talking parrot.
“This is Skittles,” Myra said, when she brought the bird out to us on the porch. “Say hello, Skittles.”
“You’re a pretty lady. Pretty lady,” the parrot said to Sherry.
“Are you a good boy? Are you a good boy?” he asked me.
“Oh, that’s cute,” Sherry said.
“I love you. I love you. I love you,” the parrot sang.
He danced along his perch and talked up a storm.
“You’re my best girl. My best girl,” he said to Myra.
“And you’re my best guy,” she said.
“Best guy! Best guy! Best guy!”
“He says the sweetest things,” Sherry said. “Can you actually hold a conversation with him?”
“Of course, she can’t,” I told her. “You can’t have a conversation with a bird.”
“Sometimes we have conversations,” Myra said. “I’ll try.”
To Skittles, she said,” “Skittles, do you want a treat?”
“How’s your butthole?” Skittles asked.
Myra said, “Shut up!”
Skittles said, “Me, too. Must be the salt air.”
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