Its a Bird! Its a Plane! ...No, its just a bird...

                                               

It was a day like any other. The sun was shining, I was super late for work, tourists were thwarting my attempts to circumvent Central Park South effectively. Yes, things were looking mediocre. All in all, a pretty normal Saturday in the City. I was bustling along, wishing I had worn a hat, for my ears were chilly (that was not the last time she would wish she had worn a hat this journey**), when I got to the end of the cobble stone path and had the STOP hand at the crosswalk. So, I did what any normal human who doesn't want to get hit by a cab would do. I stopped. Right under a cute little lamppost. Right under some cute little demon birds from the 3rd circle of hell.

So, there I am. Just waiting. When all of a sudden, I feel what feels like I was hit on the head with a snowball. Only less cold. And lighter. And smellier. I immediately look down at the front of my coat... poo. All down the front. I look in my purse...poo. I slowly lift a trembling hand to the top of my head. As I draw my hand back down in front of my face, I see...poo. So. Much. Poo. Why? WHY!? didn't I wear a hat!?

The Walk sign was now showing.

So, on I went. After all, I had to work, and since I had no wipes, or portable sinks on me, and as we all know, New York is lacking in its public bathroom scene, I walked covered head to purse in poo. I laughed a little, I cried a little. I called Caleb to make sure that we still had no hot water for me to look forward to later on. Rest assured, the boiler is still dead.

I get to work. 20 minuets late, and covered in shit. First thing I do is go into the bathroom to clean up. The first thing I notice is that there is no soap. Cool. Great. Awesome. My manager gave me some clorox wipes. Which, you know, is what every ginger with sensitive skin wants to use on her forehead and whatnot. Did I look terrible with cloroxed hair and a red forhead? Yes. Did I smell vaguely of feces all day? Yes. Did I pioneer woman myself clean later? Yes. Did I use the excuse "Well I'm covered in pigeon shit!" all day? You're damn right I did.

Be warned all pigeons of New York City (mainly the C.P.S. Pigeons), I am coming for you. I hereby declare war on all rats with wings on the isle on Manhattan. Take heed. Bust out your Carrier cousins and spread the word. Your days are numbered. The end is near.

Winter is Coming.

**if you know which author I am trying to imitate right there and from which book, we have permission to be best friends.