“I want a rainbow lorikeet,” says Mr. Flatmate.
My reply, knowing that he wants a lot of things that he’ll never get around to obtaining, was, “Yeah, that would be cool.”
Within minutes he’d located his dream bird online, for a bargain we-can’t-be-bothered-with-a-pet-anymore price, complete with free cage. Suddenly, I’m having visions of me cleaning up after it, while it’s giant cage clutters up my already cramped house. I try back out. Mr. Flatmate sulks a bit. He’s already in love. I cave because I’m weak, but also because I want to get laid. And it is really cute.
We arrange to pick up the bird, which is about two years old, and weirdly has no name. Mr. Flatmate is kind of tin-foil-hat about privacy, so for the sake of his paranoia, I won’t share the name he bestowed upon his bird. Instead, I shall refer to him as Jealous McCuntbeak.
Not actually Jealous McCuntbeak, but they all look the same anyway.
Mr. Flatmate and Jealous McCuntbeak spent the next three days bonding over their obsession for one another, and quickly became an inseparable pair. Mr. Flatmate becomes visably tense if others attempted to communicate with Jealous McCuntbeak, lest they undo the vital progress he had made in his training. Jealous McCuntbeak, being a mirror to Mr. Flatmate’s very being, also became enraged if others ventured to closely to his Lord and Saviour.
They’re an interesting pair, and can often be heard alternately screaming and singing at each other while engaging in hand vs. bird wrestling. Mr. Flatmate showers Jealous McCuntface with gifts in the form of toys and flowers, which Jealous McCuntface destroys with reckless abandon. It’s like watching a friend beginning a sickeningly sweet, but dangerously co-dependant relationship. I’ve had to deal with public displays of affection, weird baby-talk, and no longer being part of conversations. I’m also mostly exhiled from my bedroom, because that’s where they hang out, and I don’t want to get my face eaten off. Mr. Flatmate use to come home from work and harrass me until I told him to “fuck off out of my kitchen,” now he goes straight to Jealous McCuntbeak, who starts calling for him the second he arrives. Yes, I’m a little bit Jealous McCuntbeak too.
I forgive him for his neglect though, because the things I overhear during his conversations with Jealous McCuntbeak are wonderfully entertaining. Too entertaining to keep to myself, so I shall share some of them with you:
“It’s weird being naked around you. You’re underage.”
“Hey buddy, are you going to come in the shower? Hahaha. Oh, you won’t get that joke…”
“Don’t eat that, bro, that’s my flatmate.”
“Hey! That’s my phone! Give it back! Argh! Fine, it’s your phone.”
Whispered “Hush little baby, don’t say a word, and nevermind that noise you heard.”
Me “It’s still counts as singing a lullaby to your bird, even if it is Metallica.”
Mr. F “What? I wasn’t singing. Shut up.”