When the pigeon started to speak, she figured it was time to finally get some sleep. 

She’d been in the process of cutting herself some bangs — as one does at two in the morning — when out of the corner of her eye, a rather chubby pigeon landed on her window sill. It had started to make such horrible noises — like it was trying to hack up a hairball — doubled over, and positively choked on nothing at all. 

Startled, she fumbled her scissors, cutting off a large chunk of hair in the process, and ran to her window in an animal-lover panic. The poor feathered thing was looking like it was attempting to bark up its lungs. Hands shaking, she rushed to pull open her window, but the darn thing was stuck again! She gritted her teeth and wrenched with all her might, tugging the window open and toppling into the opposite wall in the process. 

She blinked in surprise, the bird had ceased its coughing and was staring right at her! The rotund creature stood up on its surprisingly spindly legs, gave one last wheeze, and cleared its throat rather rudely. Wait, cleared its throat? 

“Got an important message for a...”, it paused for a moment, “a silly, pimply girl?” It peered at her through beady eyes, “Must be you, huh?”

She screamed and slammed the window shut. 

“It was a joke! A joke! Now just hold on a moment!,” the pigeon croaked in slightly muffled indignation, “I’ve got a very important message for you!”

She screamed again, covering her eyes in fright. 

“Excuse me? No manners at all, this one, should never have become a postal pigeon,” it clucked to itself before rapping bossily on the window with a feathery wing. 

“Open up! I got a message!”  

The pigeon stamped its small clawed foot on the window sill, squawking from the other side. “I’ve flown a long way, and you’re just going to ignore me? How rude!”

She peered shakily through her fingers at it.

“Hey! I’m talking to you! Also, it’s cold out here — could you let me in? Maybe get me some hot tea? My throat hurts a bit, d’you think this is easy?”

She took her trembling hands away from her face and stared unsteadily at the now shivering pigeon. Taking pity on the cold, if irritable bird, she tugged the window open once again. She watched as the pigeon fluttered through her window and hovered in the air a few feet away, eventually settling on the top of the mirror she was using to cut her new bangs with.

Settling smoothly on the mirror edge it fluffed its feathers, huffing in exasperation. “Took you long enough,” it said, scowling at her through beady eyes. 

“Yeah, well you should know better. I’ve had a hard enough day,” it rasped irritably. “Right, right your message.” The pigeon straightened up proudly. “It’s a very, very important, and significant, and crucial message.”

Her eyes widened — what could it be?

“Now, I know this may come as a shock, but I just had to deliver this message and it is…,” it paused dramatically. “...It is that you should…,” pausing again even more dramatically. “...Never, ever, try to cut your bangs at home, and honestly your hair is positively one of the worst things I have ever witnessed, and believe me I have seen a lot, it’s not easy being a postal pigeon.”

She was on the edge of her seat, waiting for the very, very important message the irritable bird had to tell her.

“I’ll say it again — never, ever cut your bangs at home. They always look horrible. You hear me?” the bird said extremely seriously. Then it continued. “Okay. That’s the very important message. Now, when are you going to bring me that hot tea?”

She threw the bird out of her window and went back to cutting her bangs.