A bird shat on my head this morning JUST as I was stepping onto the bus. This is supposed to be good luck.

I beg to differ.

Please, please, PLEASE (that’s me begging…)

So I thought it was a big raindrop – although it wasn’t raining. OK maybe that’s a lie. No, it definitely is a lie. I PRAYED it was a raindrop. But I knew exactly what it was the second it hit my freshly washed and styled i’m-gonna-be-30-soon-shag-haircut. “Oh SHIT” I yelled.

Exactly.

Iร‚ย couldn’t go back home so I tried to wipe the shat right out of my hair (wasn’t thatร‚ย a shampoo commercial jingle?) to the best of my ability and got on the bus.

Me: Good morning Mr. Bus Driver,” I said. “Is there birdshit in my hair?

Bus Driver: “Um… yeah. You can use the mirror hanging over the back door to check it… You sure you don’t want to catch the next bus?… HEY, you know that’s good luck, right?”

Me: “I HATE you.”

OK I thought that but I didn’t say it. I just took the little pack of wet wipes out of my purse and continued to re-shampoo my hair on the bus.

As people got on, you should have seen the envy… “Man she’s lucky.” / “I wish I were her.” / “Mommy, how come birds never shit on my head?” I don’t really have the energy to keep writing about this, but please believe the second I got within a block of my house I was in a full out sprint to the bathroom to wash my hair. The whole experience was absolutely the worst. It’s 4:36am. Good nite.

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