Dear Hummingbirds,
Hey, would you take it easy already? What’s the freakin’ rush, hummingbirds? I don’t get it—why must you flap your wings so damn fast? You need to chill out.
Here I am, sitting in my garden, quietly reading a book and sipping on a fruit cocktail, and all of a sudden you’re buzzing into my field of vision, scaring the living bejesus out of me, because at first I think you’re some kind of humongous, genetically altered uberinsect that’s bringing doom straight to my front door. I’m falling off my lawn chair, grappling for a fly swatter, yet knowing that a fly swatter won’t save me, and then I realize you’re a hummingbird.
First of all—_grow up_ a little! You’re too small to be a bird. Maybe if you didn’t expend all your energy flapping around like a lunatic, you might actually put on a few ounces and at least get to a respectable, sparrow-type weight. Secondly, as far as I can tell, the buzzing around is not doing you any good, my friends. At your size, there’s no reason you can’t just perch on top of that flower and suck out the nectar from above. No reason to hover in front of the thing, for Pete’s sake. Do you see me floating above my fruit cocktail, taking a sip, then bolting over to the neighbor’s yard looking for more, like a strung-out coke fiend? I don’t think so. You see me sitting here in my lawn chair drinking fruit cocktail through a straw—it’s called e-v-o-l-u-t-i-o-n. Get with the program.
I read somewhere that your wings beat 53 times per second, and that your average life span is three to four years. Seems like you’re burning the candle at both ends there, hummingbirds. Let’s say you cut your number of wing beats in half to a mere 26 beats per second—you could double your life span! Now would that be so bad? Would that really hurt anyone?
Think how much happier you would be if you weren’t so stressed out all the time. Think how much more food you could eat if you weren’t so busy flitting hither and thither for no good reason all the time. My advice to you, hummingbirds: Stop and smell the flowers once in a while. Life is too short.
Very truly yours,
Tony Cross
