It’s an “old wives’ tale” that when a bird poops on your head, it’s supposed to be good luck. I couldn’t find any remotely reliable Internet sources for that, so I’ll stick with the “old wives’ tale” instead.
Anyway, that’s what happened to me this morning. I was already not in a great mood. I’m waiting for the bus and I feel something hit my head. I reach up with my left hand to make sure that whatever it is is off my head. I look at my fingers. No! Bird poop! I open my bag with my right hand (being left handed, this is a bit of a struggle) and grab the travel pack of tissues I keep in there. The little sticker seal thingie breaks off before I can get a tissue out. I wipe off my hands and then fish the cell phone out of my bag. I start walking back home and call Karen.
“I need help!”
“What’s wrong?”
“A bird pooped on my head and I need help getting it off. I’m walking back now.”
With a combination of snickering at my fate this morning and choking back disgust at the sight of some bird poop in my hair, Karen helps me clean myself up. The upside is that I got a ride into work this morning.
Other than that, nothing good happened. So I’d like to know where this wives’ tale came from. Stupid bitches. :-\