wedding road trip

Duck Attack

When I was three years old, my mother took me to the local park to feed the ducks. As I reached out to feed one of the birds, he opened his big ducky mouth and bit my hand.

Later that year, while visiting Disneyland, I had the opportunity to meet Donald Duck. I waited patiently in line for my turn to take a picture with him. When my moment came at last, I took one long look at Donald and bit him square on the beak as if to say, “I hate you and your ugly duck face.”

My war against ducks abated during my elementary school years, when I fell in love with a book called The Story of Ping that my grandmother used to read to me when I faked illness in order to spend the afternoon at her house. To be honest, I’ve never really gotten comfortable around live ducks, and often avoid them in parks and ponds. I think some people know it as Anatidaephobia, which is basically the fear that a duck is watching you from somewhere, ready to attack.

And that’s where our story begins, on a crisp, clear Louisville morning. After breakfast at Lynn’s Paradise Cafe, my friend Fox told us the story of her baby ducks. For the past two years, Fox, Dave, and their three kids have bought and raised baby ducks to celebrate Easter. When the ducks hit the four month mark, they are taken to the duck pond at the local cemetery, where they are released to the wild to hang out with all of their bill-biting friends.

When we showed up at the cemetery, Barton and Virginia, the two older kids, leapt out of the van and raced over to a pair of white ducks who were chatting it up near the water. “There’s Ping! There’s Pong!” they screeched as they said hello to their old friends. As I surveyed the scene, I couldn’t help but feel a little warmth in my heart for the Norman Rockwell scene that was playing out in front of me.

And then… THEY noticed me and my juicy calves and started running in my direction. I had the prescience to sense your future skepticism, so I took a picture as proof. Unfortunately, it was blurry, so I can’t post it. But I swear on AFLAC that those ducks meant business. Within seconds, I was backed up against the van, crossing myself and saying a prayer to Howard, the Patron Saint of Ducks. As it turns out, the ducks had zero interest in me and were just looking for the next visitor to throw them a crust of bread. Thankfully, I’m low-carbing it right now.

I must say, there was something very sweet about the kids visiting their pets in an environment that was so obviously better for their feathered friends. Hats off to Fox for thinking creatively. The visit didn’t cure me of my duck phobia, but definitely aided the pace of the process.

Day 20: Death By Paradise

If it were my destiny to die by food consumption, I would want it to be at Lynn’s Paradise Cafe. Decorated like a candy jar and lit like a circus, Lynn’s is Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory in a restaurant. As we walked in the door with our Louisville friends, I half-expected Gene Wilder to appear behind the soda counter, ready to serve a Derby Shake to a young Edward Scissorhands.

During Derby time, Lynn’s Paradise Cafe is a haven for foodies like Bobby Flay, who like to create special additions to the menu. While I decided to keep myself in check given our hectic eating out schedule, Our friend Dave did no such thing and ordered a breakfast that surely has appeared in the dreams of every child under the age of five. I absolutely love it when dining companions order the one thing I truly want to order, because then I can try a bite or two without the twenty pounds of weight gain (or guilt). Thank you, Dave. May you have good metabolism for-evah.