After a day of numerous stressors, I finally went to buy groceries, forgot most of the condiments I needed to replace and then had a bird crap on me as I unlocked my front door.
Hey, I dunno about over there with you, but oddly enough here in the UK it's considered amazingly good luck to have a bird poop on you. Just, uh, make sure you invoice said bird for the dry cleaning bill ;O)
And perhaps it is. But a bird still shit on me. And not on my clothes, but ON ME. On my arm. And my fucking HAIR. Can you just hear the whine and horror in my voice?
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