I mean that literally, things involving actual crap regularly happen to me. Seriously. It seems like I’m always physically dealing with crap (or poo, whatever you want to call it. It’s shit either way you sniff it).
From my shifts at the animal shelter to picking up after my dogs at home to an unfortunate case of the runs after any encounter with White Castle. (But that place is delicious and I will never stop subjecting my intestines to that toxic goodness.)
No matter what, I seem to constantly be dealing with some sort of shit. Literally.
Recently, my husband and I went to New York to visit some friends. While we were there, we decided to take a stroll down the Hudson River Park. It’s a park that’s a few miles long and overlooks the Hudson River (hence the clever name).
Since I’m a huge Law and Order fan, I wanted to see the Hudson personally, as that always seems to be where Lenny fishes out a body and then makes a funny pun. Something like “This guy was just dying to get to the water.”
Okay, that’s a horrible example, but I’m not nearly as clever as Jerry Orbach, may he rest in peace. Ba Bum.
Anyway, moving back on topic…Seriously people, focus.
So we all decided to walk down Hudson River Park. We wanted to do this partially to enjoy the day, but also partially to see the freak shows at the park, which would make for good entertainment while making us feel better about our own lives at the same time. It was a win-win.
We arrived at the park and immediately noticed several people dressed in very strange outfits…costumes, really. They weren’t so much costumes as just random items glued to sheets or the back of cardboard boxes.
Immediately I got a flash back to the year I decided to go as “static cling” for Halloween and I just pinned a bunch of random things to my body. These costumes had similar effort put into them, but I’m pretty sure they couldn’t blame their poor artistic ability on a five dollar budget and copious amounts of vodka.
There didn’t appear to be a specific theme to the haphazard costumes although we noticed several of them involved fish and the water. Naturally we assumed these people were crazy, we just didn’t know to which degree.
We weren’t sure if they were “obsessed with Justin Beiber” crazy or if they were “the call is coming from inside the house” crazy. Either way, we were intrigued and wanted to find out.
We noticed a flyer taped to the pier advertising a parade that was to begin shortly. Perfect. These people were obviously part of a larger production and we wanted to see more of it. And of course, that’s the one day I left my flask at home. Frick!
Despite our lack of libations, we decided to stay and enjoy the show anyway. We walked a bit longer and then found a spot in the grass on the parade route.
Just as we were settled in, ready to begin reigning judgment on those in the parade, I heard my husband yell “Oh shit.” I looked over at him and said “What’s with you?”
At that point he said in a completely monotone voice “A bird just shit all over me.” Just as I was getting ready to laugh at him uncontrollably, he followed it up with “And it shit all over you too.”
Um, what?! I was wearing a white sweater that I just purchased for the trip.
Ironically, the new sweater was a direct result of a permanent stain I got on my last white sweater. (The stain was on the back of the sweater and I have no idea what it is or how it got there. It will remain a mystery that haunts me…at least until the next unidentified stain crisis.)
I looked over my left shoulder and discovered my husband was correct. I was covered in bird shit. The worst part was that it wasn’t even normal bird shit (as if there is such a thing). This bird has serious diarrhea and needed to learn the importance of a high fiber diet.
It obviously had some White Castle for lunch and was suffering from some serious anal leakage. (Believe me pigeon, we’ve all been there…)
I looked over to our friends to see if they were also ambushed by the diuretic pigeon, but both of them were unscathed by the attack. How is that possible?
The New Yorkers narrowly missed the shit storm. Literally. It was a mini storm of shit. Perfect. Of course the bird got me. Of course it did.
The bird managed to hit two different places on my husband’s head. Since he shaves his head, (my husband, not the bird. I can’t comment as to this particular bird’s hairstyle), it was easy for him to clean it off and become poop-free for the rest of the day. I wasn’t so lucky.
One of our friends told me not to try to clean it off, as he said it would be easier to remove the stain later if I just let it dry. I wasn’t sure if he was correct. That logic made sense, but part of me thought he told me that just so I would walk around all day with shit on my shoulder.
Immediately, I began singing John Denver’s “Sunshine on my shoulder” but changed the lyrics to “Bird shit on my shoulder makes me icky….”
I figured the best way to deal with it was to hold my nose, laugh it off, and enjoy the rest of the day. And that’s exactly what I did. I didn’t want to ruin my day because of one pigeon’s case of the trots (or should I say “the flutters” in the case of this bird).
I shook it off and didn’t think about it again. If people wanted to judge me, so be it. But the real people they should judge were the people walking around NYC with a girl with bird shit all over her.