Bachelors, Beauties and Birds: Picnics Aren’t Always Perfect
I met Maggie shortly after Millie, who was between Myla and Mary. On that particular Sunday, we spread our blanket in a small patch of yellow daisies near the edge of a tiny country pond. The day was perfect for a summertime picnic. I kissed Maggie on the cheek as I handed her a bachelor-style egg and tuna sandwich, prepared on a lightly buttered bun.
Turning her face to absorb the warm July sun, Maggie kicked off her shoes and wiggled her toes in the tiny golden flower peddles. As she unwrapped her lunch, a lone seagull cried overhead. Although unusual to see a seagull in a farm field, it added to the romantic mood that was stirring. I poured Maggie a small glass of red wine.
“He must be hungry,” she said, delicately picking a small piece of bread from her bun. Maggie smiled, tossing the tiny morsel into the flowers as she sipped her wine. “This is wonderful,” she whispered warmly.
I was heading straight for dessert when suddenly the seagull swooped and snatched the crumb without ever touching the ground. He let out a cry and the quiet afternoon was quickly shattered by the piercing screams of dozens of incoming gulls. I threw my sandwich into the air in an effort to distract them. But the throw was poor and my meal landed squarely on Maggie’s head. Four seagulls descended on her; two of the birds got the sandwich and flew away but two hung tough. Grabbing a six-inch pickled sausage, I managed to beat one of them away. The other bird, however, had his crusty claws knotted in Maggie’s curly auburn locks and couldn’t fly free.
Woman and bird screamed in unison. I yelled for Maggie to dive into the pond as the water would straighten her hair and help free the creature. She made a mad dash for salvation but stepped on a bumblebee that was sucking on a daisy. She screamed again. Grabbing her foot, Maggie hopped wildly to the water’s edge and plunged bird-first into the filmy pool.
I breathed a sigh of relief when the seagull shot from the water like a feathered rocket. I stopped breathing, however, when Maggie shot from the water, gasping, firing a look as cold as a frozen fish fillet.
I met Melissa who was after Maggie�
