Shameful Plug

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Poop, lots of poop.

This weekend, while I was supposed to be resting, I decided to take a trip to Dollar General to pick up a few necessary items. Nothing crazy, just some shampoo, a plastic bin, and paper towels. Really, nothing big- just necessary. As I descended from from the store, I felt a flick on the back of my neck. Reaching back to see how the elastic from my shirt could have possibly popped, I instead pull back a hand slimed with poo. Bird poo. Birds = the species I am terrified of. Now dry heaving and gagging, trying to get into the car with my shopping bags, and not get the poop anywhere else on me, I feel a tickle running down my back. More poo. Running down my back, which I have just so gracefully smashed into the back of my car seat. So the poop is in my hair, on my neck, running down my back, smashed into my t-shirt and bra and I am dry heaving like it's going out of style. Thank goodness I only live a few blocks from the poop flinging Dollar General, because as soon as I got into the garage, I strip. Leaving the clothes in the garage until after I have disinfected myself by taking an hour long shower, washing my hair, neck, and back at least 12 times with the scrubby brush. Once cleansed, I call my mom and Abe and tell them of my terrible experience. I describe it to them as "one of my worst nightmares," to which my mom responds, "Well, if that is your worst nightmare, then I think you are doing alright."

Not doing alright. Now, every time I pass under an awning or type of cover where b-i-r-d-s can hang out and nest, I am constantly looking to make sure I am in the clear. This is not a good way to live my life; in fear of being pooped on.