Forced Out Of Isolation

I'm not much of a Whoopie-It's-New-Years kind of a gal.
I used to partake of the festivities; going to multiple parties in one night, dodging kisses at midnight from unattractive strangers, throwing up behind dumpsters... All the usual stuff. But despite how fun all that sounds, I was always left with a feeling of disappointment. Since my mid-twenties, my main goal for the holiday has been to make it as unexciting as possible.
This New Year's Eve was no exception. I had big plans to spend the evening doing some corrective haircoloring (Miss Clairol and I had a bit of a tiff earlier in the day), while parked on the couch eating junk food and watching a slew of films.

All was going well. I was dressed like a lumberjack in my I-don't-care-what-crap-gets-on-this-thing flannel, my head was covered in purple slime and topped with a plastic bag, and I was watching In Good Company. I couldn't have been happier.

All that ended when Davis came in and announced that two acquaintances had just arrived. Despite my pleas to tell them it was not a good time and that they should just go away, he gregariously invited them in. I did what any sensible person in my situation would do. I ran and hid in the bathroom. For what seemed like an eternity. Not only was my fine mood dampened (to put it mildly), but I ended up putting an end to my hair remedy about an hour too early.
When I awoke the following day with my still-peachy head of hair, I swore that correctivus- interruptus would not happen again. Davis was away at work (unable to let the marauding hordes in, should they arrive), so I locked the doors, pulled down the shades and donned the purple slime once again, this time while wearing my yellow and red flowered flannel pjs.
Nothing would stop me this time!
I was about half an hour into the coloring session when I heard sort of a clanging. I opted for the time-tested ignore-it-and-it-will-go-away approach. When it happened a couple more times, I readied myself to kick some rabbit butt (who else would be causing such a noise?). However, when I peered out of my studio they were both quietly sitting side by side under the Christmas tree.
The clanging happened again. This time I thought it sounded like it was coming from the basement. I went to the top of the cellar stairs and called out a nervous "Hello?......" When no burglar answered back, I ventured down the stairs wondering what rabid creature was lurking in the depths. This was what I found:


Poor little guy. He was pretty calm about it all, although I think he would have preferred it if I hadn't brought out the camera. It's thought that he fell down the chimney (he's like Santa - only he's rather late and a bird). All of the windows down there were sealed from the outside, and since I couldn't very well send him back out the way he came, I was in a bit of a quandary. Have I mentioned how ridiculous I looked? I finally decided that his well being came before my fears of humiliating myself in front of the neighbors. I tucked my pjs into my rubber boots, put on a long coat and an expendable hat and went out into the yard wielding a drill. I like to think I pulled off the look with a certain panache.
Neighbors and passers-by seemed to instinctively fear me, so I wasn't forced to engage in any chit chat while on my mission of mercy. It took a bit of window wrangling, but the bird was eventually set free. I'm happy to say that it all ended well. Except for my hair, which still looks like crap.