A doo a day keeps my troubles away.

We interrupt this regularly scheduled program to bring you something utterly lacking in sophistication or cultural insight.

A bird doo’ed on my head yesterday. Like an indiscriminate lightning bolt that offers no explanation or apology, the little birdie soared away without blinking an eye. 

And you know what, there’s nothing like a couple drops of bird doo to remind you to laugh at yourself and your lovely, doo-spotted tresses.

It was a chilly, squintably sunny day, and I had gone for a run that morning along the snowy banks of the Loire. I returned with a face covered in dried tears and a healthy dose of snot (no shame here, send the glamour scouts right over) and took a sizzling shower. I felt fresh, invigorated, and ready to conquer the world one baguette at a time.

I was walking with a big grin on my face and little kick in my step when PLOP! it started raining. And then it stopped… after two drops.

As it so happens, I was on my way to see my Italian friend, Arianna. Hey! I said excitedly, stepping into the kitchen’s warm embrace. In Italy, isn’t it good luck when a bird poops on you?

Oui, she replied. Mais c’est degoulase!  But it’s also disgusting.

C’est pas faux, as I’ve taken to saying. That is not false.

But I couldn’t help thinking how few people can say they’ve been pooped on by a bird. And this is actually my second gift from above – the first, I received at the zoo in eighth grade while on a class fieldtrip. Don’t think I’d forget that.

I think the lesson to be learned here is that we should all be like birds with their doo, happy to share with people of all nationalities and hair types.

This program will resume next week with “Oy gevalt, oh la laa! Teaching ze French how to spin ze dreidel.”