Blueberry milkshit
It’s a few minutes before I leave my place, and I have to put something in the trash outside. When I swing back the door, I look at my car and see them: a series of spots on the hood of my car. Lovely.
For some reason, the shit isn’t white. It's a blueberry milkshit; swirls of white and blue. It has streamed – diagonally – across the hood of my car, onto the roof and across the passenger side windows. This bird had a serious case of the runs.
I roll my eyes.
The trash is put away and I pull out the watering hose. The valve for the water is turned on. I’m not going to use soap, because I’m just trying to spray the shit off the car before it ruins the midnight blue paint finish of my Little Lexus.
While I spray off the shit, I rub my finger along the metal of the car because the shit hardened. The heat from the sun must’ve caked on the crap.
After a few more sprays with the hose, it’s clean. No more blueberry milkshit. While I’m near the trunk of the car, I hear a distinct sound before I walk towards the front. It’s similar to a small rubber ball hitting a piece of metal.
What’s that noise? I think.
I look at the hood and see a bird has shit on it. Whether it's the same one, or not, I don't know. The shit made a splatter so wide, it’s the size of a small pizza. This time it doesn’t resemble blueberry milkshit, but melted cookies-and-cream ice cream.
Still holding the watering hose in my hand, I look up to the sky, look down and start laughing.
“There is no way this just happened,” I say. It’s like symbolism on top of symbolism. “It’s too ironic, even for me.” The neurotic cleaner gets crapped on, again and again.
Up goes the watering hose and I spray the hood of the car again. When the hood is shitless, I get a shammy and dry the sopping liquid. What’s left is a gleaming example of Toyota’s technology.
When I’m done, I think, Of course, if I tell this to someone, they’ll think I’m exaggerating. All of my stories sound like stories because of situations like this. No one can write life better than how I live it.
Sadly, I’m not telling stories. My life really is full of irony.
And, shit.
For some reason, the shit isn’t white. It's a blueberry milkshit; swirls of white and blue. It has streamed – diagonally – across the hood of my car, onto the roof and across the passenger side windows. This bird had a serious case of the runs.
I roll my eyes.
The trash is put away and I pull out the watering hose. The valve for the water is turned on. I’m not going to use soap, because I’m just trying to spray the shit off the car before it ruins the midnight blue paint finish of my Little Lexus.
While I spray off the shit, I rub my finger along the metal of the car because the shit hardened. The heat from the sun must’ve caked on the crap.
After a few more sprays with the hose, it’s clean. No more blueberry milkshit. While I’m near the trunk of the car, I hear a distinct sound before I walk towards the front. It’s similar to a small rubber ball hitting a piece of metal.
What’s that noise? I think.
I look at the hood and see a bird has shit on it. Whether it's the same one, or not, I don't know. The shit made a splatter so wide, it’s the size of a small pizza. This time it doesn’t resemble blueberry milkshit, but melted cookies-and-cream ice cream.
Still holding the watering hose in my hand, I look up to the sky, look down and start laughing.
“There is no way this just happened,” I say. It’s like symbolism on top of symbolism. “It’s too ironic, even for me.” The neurotic cleaner gets crapped on, again and again.
Up goes the watering hose and I spray the hood of the car again. When the hood is shitless, I get a shammy and dry the sopping liquid. What’s left is a gleaming example of Toyota’s technology.
When I’m done, I think, Of course, if I tell this to someone, they’ll think I’m exaggerating. All of my stories sound like stories because of situations like this. No one can write life better than how I live it.
Sadly, I’m not telling stories. My life really is full of irony.
And, shit.
Authored by S at 12:00 am
7 Comments:
Shit. Not the kind of stuff you'd want to read when you're having coffee flavored haagen dazs at 1 in the am. Not your shit. I mean the bird poop.
Thanks for the e-card. It was a blast.
uh yeah. I nearly got shat on by a pigeon the other day walking my dog. The dog nearly got shat on while shitting! That's...well, I don't know if it's irony but it is definitely serendipitous.
By the way, the pigeon shit was green and white. Yum.
They love you! I just knew they did....like we all do. Only thing is, we don't all shit on your car to prove it. As far as I know, anyway.
sounds like someone is having fun with baskin-robbins 31 melted flavors. maybe tonight your car will get doused in rocky road or mint chip.
I'm with Dell. I had to stop reading after the second paragraph. Funny what makes me squeamish.
Thankyou for the laugh...Not at your expense, but the humourous way in which you write about the events...Your lucky a Pelican didn't drop a load...You would be cleaning the 'whole' car..Those damn birds can crap for more than 10 seconds and this aint no finch.
Odd how I'm just now reading this whilst slurping away on a milkshake.
Thank you for that.
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