I told my bird story to my dearly betrothed. She was grossed out about the marks all over my arms and insisted I bathe in a vat of disinfectant and get some booster shots before coming to bed.  I took a shower and that was good enough for me.

My wife is seriously fucking hilarious. She's a cross between Lucille Ball and Eddy Murphy. This morning she was talking to me in a North American Indian accent, calling me Joe Crow.  Making hand gestures of wings flapping, laughing while saying, " Flutter, flutter, flutter". 

Continuing with the accent, " Whoa, you better see if you got the bird flu, eh?" 

She told everyone at work, I'm sure, using dramatic exaggerations. Now, I'm Joe Crow, The Bird Man of Alcatraz, Little Sparrow and Wing Nut. The references concerning every aspect of daily life are driving me batty.