What Is It with Me and Birds?

Sometimes, the week just starts off badly. Having jury duty on a rainy Monday certainly qualifies as the bad. Coming thisclose to being on a jury but getting off at the last minute counts as the very good. I was hoping that was going to be the theme for the rest of the week.

Sadly, my hopes were quickly dashed. Yesterday, I left the office for lunch for the first time in months. I figured, lovely day, why not? I should really have learned by now to ignore my occasional fits of optimism. On the way back from lunch, a bird shat on me. And it was so efficient at doing its business that said business landed on my hand, my bottle of lemonade, and inside my jacket pocket. Inside my pocket. That bird had some aim.

I would pass this off as an unfortunate occurrence, but it’s the fifth time this has happened to me in the last 10 years or so. They say that a bird crapping on you is good luck, but isn’t it supremely bad luck if it keeps happening? I don’t do well with birds in general. In addition to voiding themselves on me, I have other issues. A pigeon once flew straight into my head. I’m not sure which of us was more shocked. I promptly ran home and scrubbed my head for a half-hour because, euww gross, pigeons.

At this rate, I’m expecting my life to turn into a scene from The Birds any day now. Except with scarier and more realistic looking birds. (If I can have Tippi Hedren’s wardrobe, I might be able to live with this.)