part of a short story im writing
aunt delia always had a phobia of being pooped on by birds. when she lived in virginia she always wore a poncho in fear that at any moment a bird might poop on her head. i always found this funny because her last name was sparrow and she slightly resembled one my neighbors speckled barnyard hens. when she would come over for dinner, she never really seemed to eat but instead just peck at her food, always looking troubled with her pale freckled face, and small beak like nose. everyone said she was crazy, so one day my mother took her to see a doctor, a special kind of doctor, the kind that analyze one’s head. he suggested her phobia could perhaps be remedied by a change of scenery. aunt delia ended up moving to the desert. she deemed the doctor a genius saying “there are no trees in the desert. there are so many trees here and birds live in trees, the more trees, the more birds, the more likely an accident can happen, what vile creatures! vile diseased rats with wings pooping from trees!”.
