I stopped by my co-worker’s office to talk to her about something work related. She mentioned that she was preparing for her class assignment (she teaches, too). This week, the lesson was about learning how to tell when people are lying. Students had to tell two truths and one lie about themselves and the other students in the class had to figure out which one was the lie. It sounded fun, so I threw my truths and a lie her way. My favorite color is blue. I have a tattoo. I ran over a duck once. It turns out, I really suck at this activity because I accidently told three truths. I am a horrible liar. Remember that. It’s important for the rest of this blog. When I told her this, she was confused and required an explanation of how one would accidently run over a duck.
I was driving (obviously) to my parent’s house to drop off my daughter before going to work. I was on a back road where random objects, such as tires, mattresses, refrigerators and the like, tend to be discarded. So it was a normal thought that there was a brown shoe in the middle of the road on that morning. As I maneuvered my car to go over the shoe (I didn’t want to run over it), I came upon the realization as the duck opened her eyes with a look of alarm, that I was about to hit a duck. It was too late to go around her and I ended up hitting that thing dead on. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw feathers all over the place. Then I looked at my daughter in the rear view mirror. She was content as ever, as though Mommy hitting a wild animal was a normal, everyday occurrence.
I felt really bad; I mean, I have issues with geese, not ducks, but then again, wasn’t the duck kind of kamikaze? It was sleeping in the middle of the road so it was either suicidal or stupid and either way, who wants that kind of duck to breed and make more ducks? Not me. You are welcome, America.