Gosh darn. Goll dang. Golly gee. Crap. There’s a bird in my shop. Just when I got it heated up nicely I have to leave the door wide open and hope he flies out. In the meantime, I’ve had to cover all the artwork and samples and equipment quickly so I could cower back in my corner with a paper on my head like the girly-girl I can become at the swoosh of a wing overhead, the hop of a frog, the leap of a grasshopper.
I hate fast flying jumping things.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology