Needless to say, I’m not an Alfred Hitchcock fan

I am deathly afraid of birds. I mean, really terrified.

I’m routinely laughed at by strangers as I give pigeons a wide berth walking by them on the sidewalk or scream and duck when one flies at my head (ok, “at my head” may actually mean "within several feet of my general direction" but let’s not get caught up in semantics).

So, you can imagine the trauma when I went to Target today and there was a bird INSIDE the store!

I'm sure you can imagine my terror. What you may not be able to accurately imagine is the other shoppers and their children's terror, not at the bird but at the crazy lady who couldn't stop screaming. Picture me sprinting from aisle to aisle to get the shampoo, hand soap and lotion I needed as quickly as possible so as to get the heck out of there. Now, add the bird flying around above me back and forth, back and forth, taunting, and me screeching and then hitting the deck so it wouldn't get me. I wish I were kidding. And, I’d imagine the woman who grasped her young son a little closer to her also wishes this scene were a little different.

The hand soap aisle was the worst since the absence of the type I usually get demanded a little deliberation. You know those bouncy, inflatable punching bag people that kids hit? They fall flat on the ground, and then bounce back up for a second until the kids punch them again and they're on the ground. That was me, but substitute the kids’ punches for me grabbing different soaps to examine on the safety of the linoleum floor.

I got out of there as quickly as I could to drive home with the top down on my convertible and try to stop shaking. As I passed under a flock of birds flying from their perch on a light post, it dawned on me that it is probably pretty ridiculous that I even have a convertible.