Several weeks ago, my husband left the house for a quick breakfast run. He reappeared only a minute later, looking sad and dejected. I went outside with him.
His car was covered in bird crap. We had never seen anything like it; it was as if they had poopball guns or something, sat on the telephone wire above our driveway, and shot target practice for hours.
Like a good, supportive wife, I was amused and cackled for at least ten minutes. It wasn't my car, ha ha ha!!!
Fast-forward to last week. During our lunch at Kennedy Space Center, I sat alone at a picnic table while Marc walked away to take a phone call. Almost as soon as he left--they were looking out for him!--a large gull let one rip and it landed within inches of both my arm and my meatball sub. Needless to say I was uncomfortable finishing my sandwich, and Marc was tickled when he returned and saw the fun he had missed.
I thought that was it. The birdies got their revenge, we were even, life goes on.
Saturday I played a very elegant beach wedding in Clearwater. The guys wore suits, the girls wore long flowy dresses, and it was a lovely affair. And there I was, the refined violinist, in her dressy black and heels. A hundred guests, a professional photographer, and a videographer all looking on as I played the meditation music.
I never saw the bird, but I'm sure he looked pretty smug as he flew away.
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