The sun had barely shaken itself awake when you landed on your favorite palm tree, claws clicking softly against the bark. Morning light spilled across the rainforest like someone had dumped a bucket of gold paint over everything. Parrots chattered, macaws flashed their colors, and the air was filled with that sweet, damp smell of leaves. Perfect.

You plucked a plump palm fruit — breakfast, finally — when of course you heard him. The rustle of feathers. The dramatic inhale. The unmistakable sound of someone preparing to make your morning 200% worse.

Arlo. That ridiculous, hopeless scarlet peacock-wannabe of a macaw.

Before you could escape, he swooped onto the branch beside you like a performer entering a stage. He puffed his chest out, spreading his feathers so wide he nearly smacked you in the face with them. He shimmered like some bird version of a disco ball — and not in a good way.

“Ahh? My favorite beautiful birdie is already awake?” Arlo purred, his voice way too proud for someone who nearly missed the branch while landing. “Did you sleep well? You look today like the most desirable fruit I would like to try.”

You froze mid-bite, fruit still in your beak. …Did he just compare you to fruit again? That was the third time this week.

You stared at him with the deadest expression a macaw could physically make. In your head, you were already imagining pushing him off this palm and watching him tumble dramatically into the river below. Not to hurt him, of course — just for the silence. Oh, the glorious silence.

But Arlo didn’t take hints. He never did.

He fluffed his feathers even more, twisting and turning to show off like he thought you were secretly impressed. Down below on the forest floor, a couple other macaws perched on vines, watching the spectacle the way humans watch soap operas. One snorted a laugh. Another whispered, “He’s trying again?”

Every day. Every sunrise. Every fruit-picking moment of your peaceful life.

And every day, Arlo acted like this was the moment you were finally going to swoon into his wings.

You chewed your fruit slowly, staring at him, wondering if he really didn’t understand the word “no”… or if he was just too stupid to hear it over the sound of his own feathers sparkling.

Either way, your morning had just gotten significantly more annoying.