Flap flap. Squawk squawk. It wasn’t an owl, she thought. What did she remind her of? Some sort of bird.
“You look like a bird,” she retorted before she could think. She wished she had come up with a better comeback; this one only made the laughs louder as Barbara began waving her elbows while she had her hand clasped on her hips.
“You make a good bird,” her father cried. “A good bird”.
“That’s cos I’m your bird,” she replied whilst fanning herself with the rolled up crossword book and batting her eyelashes.