For the birds

I must have been tempting fate when I mentioned in yesterday’s 5QF that I had been pooped on the day before my brother’s wedding. I got home from work yesterday and was unloading all my stuff from my shoulder when my hand hit something wet (it was not raining). And I knew instantly what it was: bird poop. It hit my shoulder, purse and laptop bag and it was gross. I lamented my woes on Facebook but thought I would share here as well, my tale of attracting bird poop, previously only once a decade. (I expect tomorrow that our neighborhood bald eagle will get me good for tempting fate and talking about all FIVE occurences.)

1. 0-10 years | Walking to school in the second was my first moment of misfortune. Just one block away from my house I got his squarely on top of my head and the poop slid down and into the inside of my jacket. I ran home, crying, to my mother who very nicely laughed at me and the washed my hair out in the utility sink in the basement. She drove me to school with a note honestly explaining my tardiness – “Sorry Michelle is late, a bird pooped on her head on the way to school.” Thanks, mom, for cleaning my hair and giving my teacher something to laugh about.
2. 10-20 years | As mentioned yesterday, while working on my sunburn on the gulf, a seagull did his business on my leg. Given my sunburn, it really was adding insult to injury. And also dispelling the myth that birds can’t poop mid-flight. They can and do(-doo).
3. 20-30 years | The summer between freshman and sophomore year in college, my girlfriends and I all travelled to Chicago to hang out with our guy friends for a long weekend. We visited the zoo and while there, a bird pooped on my shoulder – apparently to show solidarity for the penguins trapped inside the fence. Big thank you to Jake for cleaning off my shoulder and also for removing the leech from between my toes later that summer (I am lucky).
4. 30-40 years | Shortly after my 30th birthday, we were out on a walk in our neighborhood and halfway through the walk, I felt the telltale splat. Quite frankly I was just glad it hadn’t hit the stroller or our kid, but really, was it necessary? Thankfully we had brought our travel pack of wipes and Simon so lovingly cleaned me up, I don’t think he even laughed that much. 5. And again yesterday – boo.

After the last time was when I realized I had gotten hit once per decade of my life so I thought I was good until my 40s, alas, it was not to be. Hopefully this just means I’m good until I hit 50. I’m also trying to figure out of I can leverage a new purse out of the deal.