Baby ducks at the White House“Can we have a chicken and a duck?” is a common question I ask the mister. I ask this question frequently; usually after watching a rerun of Friends or Here Comes Honey Boo Boo. And, even though he vehemently says “no,” I know—for a fact—that we’re getting a chicken and a duck as pets (Like a “no” actually stops me from doing stuff).
On our first day in Washington D.C., our first stop was the White House. And in the annals of Stupidest Questions Ever, I asked:
“Where’s the White House?”
Frank stared blankly.
“I’m serious.”
“1600…Pennsylvania Av-eh-nuuuuue?” he rounded out for dramatic response.
But, of course, the White House—in all its historical glory—was easy to find. Nestled just across the National Mall on Pennsylvania Avenue between 15th and 16th Street, the White House is very extravagant, and of course, very white. Seeing that the White House is protected, we opted not to tour inside, as tickets take months to obtain. Instead, we stood with other tourists outside the gates and admired from afar.
All of us were literally “ooooh”–ing at the site of the White House. I overheard some “so beautiful,” comments in the crowd, as the building is quite captivating.
And then, much like the human fan wave at a baseball game, the crowd started “awww”–ing.
“What?! What is it? I wanna see!” my voice farted, only to immediately join the crowd as a momma duck and her fledgling of duckies crossed our paths inside the gate.
“That is the cutest thing ever!” I shouted, totally aware that the grandeur of the White House was being upstaged by a family of ducks. My mind once again raced back to the potential ownership of these adorable farm animals.
“So, can we get a chicken and a duck?”
“No.”
Later on that afternoon, we went to Alexandria, Virginia, and sat next to a fountain in a park. We heard some primal quacks coming from behind us, only to see that two ducks had befriended us, perhaps for food. We fed them and they were friendly enough to pet.
“They’re our ducky friends!” I said. “I just love duckies. They’re so cute.”
“Sure…” said Frank, knowing full well to just ‘go with it’ because the best way to end an asinine conversation is to just ‘go with it.’
And towards the end of the night, as we rounded out our first day in D.C., we stopped off in Chinatown for a dinner nightcap.
We ordered some food to go at a Chinese restaurant, a few egg rolls for me and a complete dinner for Frank, because, boy, can he eat.
“What did you get to eat?” I asked.
“Duck…” he said. “It just looked so good all day.”
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