Birds actually hate me.
Seriously.
I know they do.
I know it deep down in my being. No one esle has weird bird encounters, but I do frequently.
And this weekend it was proven once again.
I enjoyed the gorgeous sunny Seattle weekend by going to the beach yesterday. I was settled in a nice spot, enjoying the sun, sounds of the surf, and people watching. And then it happened.
A bird pooped on me!
I yelled (maybe swore a little) and went directly into the frigid waters of the Puget Sound. (Seriously, I think it's colder than Lake Superior).
Once I warmed back up and discussed the incident with the entire group of people hanging out near me (with laughter and some disgust from all of us!), I enjoyed a little more time in the sun and then went home.
I had such an enjoyable time at the beach that I decided to head back again today. Again, delightful and ended with a great trip one of the local markets.
And then I returned home.
To find a dead bird.
On my back porch.
Are you effing kidding me?! GROSS!
Seriously. Birds hate me.
And they are not making me a very big fan with these antics.
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