Supermarket Showdown: Birds, Bundt Cakes, and Bad Omens
Setting: A pristine, overly air-conditioned supermarket in the heart of Los Angeles, the kind frequented by celebrities who have nothing better to do than buy organic kale and pretend they cook. The fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting an unflattering glow on everything. Catherine Zeta-Jones, miraculously recovered from her prosecco-fueled meltdown the night before, is pushing a cart with the focused determination of a general planning a military campaign. Her hair is back in its perfect updo. Her cream silk blouse is immaculate. She looks like she stepped out of a magazine spread about “Casual Weekend Shopping.” She does not look like someone who threw a paper cup at the floor and yelled about loving all tradesmen.
She rounds the corner into the baking aisle, mentally cataloguing the ingredients
for a lemon drizzle cake she has no intention of actually making, when she freezes mid-step. Her cart squeaks to a halt. Her jaw drops. Her carefully composed expression crumbles into one of pure, unfiltered bewilderment.
Catherine Zeta-Jones: (Staring) “What… what in the actual…”
Lady Gaga is standing in the middle of the baking aisle, examining a bag of gluten-free flour with intense concentration. This alone would not be remarkable. But perched on her left shoulder, preening its crimson and blue feathers with casual indifference, is a magnificent Crimson Rosella.
Perched on her right shoulder, equally unbothered, is a regal King-Parrot, its green and red plumage gleaming under the fluorescent lights. Gaga is wearing what appears to be a leather jacket covered in sequins, a pair of enormous sunglasses, and an expression of complete normalcy, as if this is the most ordinary thing in the world.
Catherine: (Approaching slowly, as if approaching a wild animal) “Gaga. There are… there are birds on your shoulders. Actual birds. Real, living, breathing Australian parrots. In a supermarket. In Los Angeles.”
[Menu]
Gaga: (Not looking up from the flour) “I know.”
Catherine: (Stopping a few feet away, gesturing wildly) “You KNOW? That’s all you have to say? ‘I know’? There are WILD BIRDS on your shoulders, Gaga. In a supermarket. Where people buy cheese. Where children eat free samples. Where—”
Gaga: (Finally looking up, pushing her sunglasses down her nose) “They’re not wild. They’re domesticated. Well, semi-domesticated. Geoffrey’s a tattoo, remember? But these two—” She gestures with her chin toward the birds. “This is Geraldine. And this is Kevin. They’re rescues. I adopted them last night. After you left.”
Catherine: (Spluttering) “You—you adopted PARROTS? At midnight? After a
prosecco-fueled breakdown? Who adopts parrots at midnight?”
Gaga: (Shrugging, the birds shifting their weight to maintain balance) “There’s a 24-hour exotic bird rescue in the valley. I called them. They said they had two bonded pairs who needed a home. I said I’d take them. And Geoffrey—” She gestures vaguely at her shoulder blade. “—Geoffrey approved. He’s the patriarch. He made the final call.”
Catherine: (Pinching the bridge of her nose) “You named a tattoo Geoffrey. He does not make final calls. He is ink. He is pigment. He is—”
australia2010 – lifespan of a king-parrot
Gaga: (Interrupting, pointing at Catherine’s cart) “Is that lemon zest? Are you making a lemon drizzle cake? Because I have a recipe. A good one. With a honey glaze and a hint of lavender. It’s very Rosella-inspired. The colour palette matches Geraldine’s feathers. It’s—”
Catherine: (Throwing her hands up) “I don’t care about your bird-inspired cake recipes! I care about the fact that there are living creatures on your shoulders in a grocery store! This is a health code violation! This is a liability! This is—”
Suddenly, there is a clatter from the shelf above them. Catherine steps back instinctively as a bright orange bag plummets from the top shelf, missing her head by inches and landing directly at her feet, next to her expensive sandals. She looks down. The bag reads: “SUPERIOR PLUMBING SUPPLIES — TEFLON TAPE, PIPE JOINTS, AND SEALANT KIT.”
Catherine: (Staring at the bag as if it has personally insulted her) “Plumbing supplies? That’s an embarrassing sign.”
Gaga: (Peering over her sunglasses, grinning) “Is it? Or is it a sign from the universe? A message? A—”
Catherine: (Ignoring her, bending down to pick up the bag) “It’s not a sign. It’s a bag of Teflon tape that fell off a shelf. That’s not divine intervention. That’s gravity. And bad luck. And—” She examines the bag closely, turning it over in her hands. “—and it’s a terrible brand. This tape degrades in high temperatures. A real plumber would never use this. Gavin would never—”
She stops mid-sentence, realising what she’s just said. Gaga’s grin widens.
Gaga: “Gavin would never. Gavin would use premium-grade Teflon tape. Gavin would be deeply disappointed in this budget-friendly alternative. Gavin is a professional. Gavin has standards.”
Catherine: (Pointing the bag at Gaga like a weapon) “Shut up. Shut up right now. I am not discussing Gavin. I am not discussing plumbing. I am discussing the fact that you have birds on your shoulders, and I have a bag of plumbing supplies that fell out of nowhere, and I am going to lose my mind.”
Gaga: (Calmly, adjusting Kevin’s perch on her right shoulder) “Maybe it’s not a sign about Gavin. Maybe it’s a sign about the party. The upcoming party. The one we’re supposed to be planning. The one for which we are currently standing in the baking aisle, surrounded by flour and sugar and bird droppings—”
Catherine: (Horrified) “Are they dropping on the floor? Are they defecating in the supermarket?”
Gaga: (Offended) “They are impeccably trained. Geraldine and Kevin are potty-trained. They only go on command. I have a tiny little bird diaper in my bag if necessary. They are more hygienic than most humans in this store.”
Catherine: (Staring at her for a long, silent moment) “You have bird diapers. In your bag. Alongside whatever else you keep in that cavernous thing. You are—”
Gaga: “—prepared. Unlike you, who is standing in a supermarket holding a bag of cheap plumbing supplies and apparently having a spiritual crisis about it. Put the bag down, Catherine. Walk away. Let’s discuss cake. Focus on the cake.”
Catherine: (Looking down at the bag again, then back at Gaga, then at the birds, then at the bag) “I can’t. I can’t just put it down. It’s a sign. You’re right. It’s a sign. But it’s not a sign about Gavin. It’s a sign that the universe is mocking me. That every time I try to escape the conversation, it comes back. That I am doomed to discuss plumbing for the rest of my life.”
Gaga: (Patting Geraldine gently) “Well, if you’re going to be doomed, you might as well be doomed with cake. And birds. And a bag of terrible plumbing supplies that you can throw away dramatically later. Now—” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a crumpled piece of paper. “—I have the lavender honey cake recipe right here. It involves edible flowers. The kind that match Geraldine’s feathers. It will be the most beautiful, ridiculous, bird-themed cake this party has ever seen.”
Catherine: (Sighing deeply, finally placing the plumbing bag in her cart like a reluctant hostage) “Fine. Fine. Give me the recipe. But if I find a single feather in the batter, I’m making you clean it up with your bird diapers.”
Gaga: (Beaming, handing over the recipe) “Deal. Now—about the glaze. I’m thinking a rosewater reduction. It’s very… royal. Very king-parrot.”
Catherine: (Taking the recipe, reading it, shaking her head) “You are impossible. You are absolutely impossible. And yet—” She pauses, a small smile tugging at her lips. “—I am going to make this cake. And I am going to serve it at the party. And everyone is going to ask about the recipe, and I am going to tell them a crazy woman with birds on her shoulders gave it to me.”
Gaga: (Nodding solemnly) “That’s exactly what I want. My legacy. A cake. And a bag of plumbing supplies that fell from the sky. And Geraldine. And Kevin. And Geoffrey, who is watching all of this from my shoulder blade, judging us both.”
Catherine: (Looking at Geraldine, who cocks her head and chirps) “She’s beautiful. I hate that she’s beautiful. I hate all of this. I hate you. I hate the birds. I hate the cake. I hate the plumbing bag. I hate—”
Gaga: (Interrupting, smirking) “—that you’re going to make this cake and invite Gavin to the party and pretend it’s a coincidence?”
Catherine: (Colouring slightly) “I am absolutely not doing that.”
Gaga: “You are. You absolutely are. And I’m going to be there. With Geraldine. And Kevin. And maybe a third parrot, depending on what the rescue has available. And we are going to have the most ridiculous, bird-filled, plumbing-adjacent party in Hollywood history.”
Catherine: (Staring at her for a long moment, then laughing despite herself) “I hate you. I truly hate you.”
Gaga: “You love me. And you love Geraldine. Admit it. She’s growing on you.”
Catherine: (Looking at the Crimson Rosella, who preens her feathers and chirps sweetly) “She is. She really is. I hate that, too.”
Gaga: (Triumphantly) “I knew it. Now—let’s get the flour. And the eggs. And maybe some edible glitter. And we’ll make this cake. And we’ll talk about the party. And we will NOT discuss plumbing. Unless the universe drops another bag of supplies on your head.”
Catherine: (Glaring) “Don’t. Don’t even joke about that.”
As if on cue, a package of pipe connectors slides off the shelf and lands at Catherine’s feet with a soft thud. She looks down. She looks at Gaga. Gaga is laughing so hard that Geraldine and Kevin flutter their wings in alarm.
Catherine: (Picking up the package, deadpan) “I am leaving. I am leaving this store. I am leaving this city. I am leaving this country. I am moving to a desert island with no plumbing, no parrots, and no Lady Gaga.”
Gaga: (Wiping tears of laughter from her eyes) “You’ll miss Geraldine. You’ll miss the cake. You’ll miss—”
Catherine: (Walking away with her cart, calling over her shoulder) “I’LL MISS MY SANITY! THAT’S WHAT I’LL MISS!”
Gaga: (Standing alone in the baking aisle, birds on her shoulders, laughing to herself) “She’ll be back. She’ll be back for the cake. And for Geraldine. And for the plumbing supplies. She can’t resist a sign from the universe.”
Geraldine chirps in agreement. Kevin nods sagely. And somewhere in the distance, Catherine Zeta-Jones mutters to herself about tradesmen, birds, and the absolute chaos of her life.
The cake, when it was finally made, was magnificent. The plumbing bag was donated to a local charity. And Gavin the plumber did, in fact, show up to the party, lured by the promise of lavender honey cake and the faint, unexplainable hope that something ridiculous might happen.
It did.
sun casting long purple shadows across the marble table. Three empty prosecco bottles stand like fallen soldiers among the pizza debris. Catherine Zeta-Jones has abandoned all pretense of elegance and is now sprawled across the chaise like a very expensive, very tipsy puddle of silk.