Does anyone remember the Molly Hatchet song by that title? No, neither do I, except for the title. That’s a good song title. That’s what I was doing last night on my way out to dinner with friends.
On my drive to dinner that should have taken 45 minutes, but took over an hour, I was stopped by a train, encountered construction delays, and had to take a detour due to road closure. OK, so those are not really disasters, but once I got past them, there was impending disaster headed right at me as I was waiting stopped at a stoplight.
I could see it coming towards me from the driver’s side. I didn’t have much time to react, but even if I had, my sloth-like reflexes would have been over-matched. There was no way I was avoiding this disaster. I was going to be hit.
And hit I was.
My driver side window was desecrated with nasty, runny bird poop. Window? It was rolled up for some reason despite the temperature being over 70 with the sun shining. Why was my window up? Is this really proof of God’s existence? Is this good karma for feeding ducks all these years? I had my “going out” black dress shorts on. They would have been ruined, along with my mood, although I’m not sure anyone could have noticed the latter ruined thanks to a normally surly countenance.
Although the dinner was truncated due to my circuitous route, it was good with great friends, and 100% bird poop free. Although I may have been flirtin’ with disaster, I ended up picking up some good luck, at least for a one night stand.