The Leen

Thursday night, Brett and I were waiting to catch the #17 in Ballard. We had just finished dinner (Pho! Yum!) and were heading to SPU to hear one of my favorite college professors give a lecture.

The sun was shining, we were full of Pho, and we were both feeling happy and goofy.

And then, I felt something hit my left shoulder area — like where my coat’s lapel is, kind of. The tree above us was dropping little blooms, so I figured that was what it was. But no, oh, no. Of course it wasn’t some leafy blossom.

It was freaking bird crap.

Brett started laughing so hard that I couldn’t help myself from laughing, too, even though I was freaking out a bit.

Thankfully, there is a little tea shop next to the bus stop, so I went in there and begged some napkins off of the guy at the counter, who couldn’t hold his laughter in, either. I made some comment about how at least now I have an excuse to get my wool coat dry cleaned.

One of the tea shop patrons piped up from the back of the store.

“You know, it [getting hit with bird crap] is good luck in Japan.”

Well, if that’s their idea of good luck, I’d hate to see their idea of bad luck.