Dear Seagulls of Forde, Norway 3-ish Generations Ago,
You greedy little bastards – you ratted us out.
I had planned, with my sister (well, more accurately, I had planned, and then made my sister go along with me) to have a midnight picnic. No big deal. But I made a mistake: I started squirelling away food and hiding it in our suitcase in our room, waiting for the right time to have our picnic. And then the bananas got EXTRAVAGANTLY moldy. Like, they looked like they were wearing fluffy white wool sweaters that had started to grow into the suitcase lining. So I decided to abort the mission. And the only thing I could think of was to throw the bread onto the roof of the house – because our grandmother threw the bread crumbs out for the birds every single morning.
And then YOU.
I thought a freaking helicopter was landing on the roof of the house. You guys descended, en masse, and threw a rave with that bread. That bread was like the party drug AND the house music and you guys partied like angsty, hopped up teenagers.
Luckily, our grandmother is a badass and she leaned her old self out of that window and chased you all off with a broom. (Which, if I had been paying attention, is what she did every morning with the crumbs.) And – more luckily – she was kind. She helped us clean up the messy suitcases and didn’t even want an explanation. I said I’m sorry in broken Norwegian about a million times.
So, in summary, screw you guys and thank god for grandmothers.
-e.