It’s springtime here in Philadelphia. The temperature is mild, humidity is tolerable and the birds are chirping.
But, chirping birds are not to be trusted.
When the weather is beautiful and I’ve donned a t-shirt and my hair is freshly styled, they target me.
I’m rushing for the bus. The scorching heat melts me, but I carry on. Just a few steps and a token from the comfort of air conditioned mass transit.
“Aaaaah!”, I cry out.
I’ve been hit!
A white, uric acid bomb has tattooed my upper arm.
Reflexively, I scan the sky with disgust and clenched fists.
The assailant had fled…ten feet above and half-way across the street.
I seethe while feverishly squirting Purell and whisking tissues across my marred skin, 800 times over.
The previous spring:
What should have been a pleasant walk to McDonald’s, wasn’t. As I was crossing the street, *THUD*. A mass of some kind had landed atop my head. My eyes widened with horror. I hurried to the curb and suppressed a squeal. My fingertips cautiously approached.
It was warm.
An exothermic–energy releasing–reaction was occurring IN MY HAIR!
Courtesy of those dang birds…
They say it’s good luck. But, I don’t buy it.
I’ve been pelted two too many times.
I’ll happily exchange my “good fortune” for something not-so-exothermic.