Diary of a spring chick

The big yellow bird nesting in Marc Jacobs' window tells all.

By Biscuit the Chick

Hello. You may have noticed me flapping around in the window of your local Marc by Marc Jacobs boutique on Fillmore Street recently. And you might well be wondering how a fuzzy yellow fella like me snagged a spot in the retail industry.

Like many life stories, mine is long and very complicated. However, I will try my best to simplify for you my journey from the overcrowded coop of my childhood to this classy establishment. At a very young age, my mother began to notice my oddly rapid growth rate and size. While the other chicks were nestled high in the treetops, waiting for their evening meal, I was cooking at the local diner and tending bar in the evenings.

Around the age of 19, I left the nest, as they say, in search of a career in show business. After several off-Broadway shows and a failed position as spokesperson for a restaurant chain that shall remain nameless, here I am. Making timeless keepsakes for you and your loved ones.

While the job looks glamorous to those on the outside of the window looking in, there are challenges and heartbreaks, as recorded in my daily diary.

St. Patrick’s Day rang in this exciting new window display, with group after group of drunken cohorts dropping by for a fun photo. One fellow in particular nearly brought down the entire Astroturf backdrop while attempting to get his girlfriend’s attention. Many people on this day, most likely due to their high level of intoxication, decide to take rather tasteless photos with the chick. I have been spanked, groped and nuzzled by more strangers than you could imagine.

• A dog walker stops by with about seven dogs in tow and requests individual portraits of each dog with the chick. All the while he seems oblivious to the fact that one the dogs is repeatedly attempting to mate with my right drumstick.

• The first girl ever to kiss me, at the tender age of 14, came in and sat on my lap … along with her mother. That was a bit strange, being face to face with Julia for the first time in more than eight years — and she was completely unaware of our reunion. Chicks don’t speak, which puts a damper on friendly reunions.

• Many gorgeous women have blessed my lap with their presence, though most are accompanied by an anxiously waiting boyfriend or husband, too shy or uptight to join in the fun. One guy in particular seemed adamant about making sure the chick and his wife shared very separate seats for the photo. Imagine that: A grown man expressing authentic jealousy about a 20-year-old in a chicken suit.

• The lead singer of a well-known pop group stopped in for a photo with his wife. The following weekend, one of our photographers pointed out that this singer had also stopped at the L.A. store for a glamour shot with my cousin, another fuzzy yellow chicken. Looks like somebody has a fetish for feathery friends.

So, should your refrigerator lack brightly saturated images of laughing families and baffled puppies, stop by on Saturday or Sunday afternoon for some good times and a photo with the chick.

Just keep an eye on your dog.

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