So we woke up 'round 'bout I don't know so I'm not putting it down and decided to check out the outlet mall. Let's be perfectly honest, does anyone go to Vegas for the outlets? We have them in Phoenix, in fact, I'll bet you can find a decent outlet mall within an hour of where you live. And while I do enjoy spending money (and how), it's become less fun now that I realize I don't have any. Negativeness and shopping do not mix, darn my stupid conscience! Was I excited about the outlets? Not so much. Did I smile and do it? Yup (I managed to snag an A-MAZING dress, so I shouldn't be so grumpy about it).
Time to get on with it.
The five of us split up and agreed to meet at the Fudgery (a fudge shop, you would never have guessed this, right?) at 4:00 p.m. Audrey and I were meandering to the Fudgery at about 3:58 and all-of-a-sudden something lands on me. Took me about 5 seconds to figure out what just happened. A bird shit on my head. I apologize for the word, but at the time (and when I reminisce upon it even now) that's the word that comes to mind. So, as the bile is rising in my throat after my realization what is my good friend doing? Looking for something to help me clean up, right? Wrong! She's desperately looking for her camera to document the experience. I was NOT amused; she, on the other hand, just about had an accident as she was laughing so hard. Not only was I not amused, I grabbed the nearest napkin (yep, the one sitting on the dirty ground because at this point it looked more clean than my hair) and scrubbed. We then proceeded to go into the Fudgery and wait on our friends.
There I am, scowling, with a very strong suspicion that bird junk is still oozing down my scalp, and sitting inside what can only be described as the happiest place in Las Vegas. Explanation: we walk in to hear the Fudgery workers singing. We assume that they sing when they are tipped. We were wrong. They would bust out into fudge-lyriced oldie after fudge-lyriced oldie (that can't be spelled right, but in my defense it's probably not really a word). "My Girl" turned into "My Fudge" and "I've Been Working on the Railroad" turned into "I've Been Working in the Fudgery" I think you see where I'm going with this. Needless to say, I wasn't in the mood and was just irritated at the spectacle.
As I have relayed my birdshit story to my family I've been met with other bird feces stories such as: "one time a bird pooped in my food" and "one time a bird pooped on my shoe." Here is my reaction: "THERE'S NO COMPARISON." And there isn't. The irony of it all is that I am always on the lookout for birds flying over my head as I would hate for them to poop on me. The ONE time I wasn't looking...
(You may be wondering if Audrey managed to snag a couple shots and the answer is that she did, however, this is my blog and I don't have to post unflattering pictures if I don't feel like it. Suckahs!)
Time to get on with it.
The five of us split up and agreed to meet at the Fudgery (a fudge shop, you would never have guessed this, right?) at 4:00 p.m. Audrey and I were meandering to the Fudgery at about 3:58 and all-of-a-sudden something lands on me. Took me about 5 seconds to figure out what just happened. A bird shit on my head. I apologize for the word, but at the time (and when I reminisce upon it even now) that's the word that comes to mind. So, as the bile is rising in my throat after my realization what is my good friend doing? Looking for something to help me clean up, right? Wrong! She's desperately looking for her camera to document the experience. I was NOT amused; she, on the other hand, just about had an accident as she was laughing so hard. Not only was I not amused, I grabbed the nearest napkin (yep, the one sitting on the dirty ground because at this point it looked more clean than my hair) and scrubbed. We then proceeded to go into the Fudgery and wait on our friends.
There I am, scowling, with a very strong suspicion that bird junk is still oozing down my scalp, and sitting inside what can only be described as the happiest place in Las Vegas. Explanation: we walk in to hear the Fudgery workers singing. We assume that they sing when they are tipped. We were wrong. They would bust out into fudge-lyriced oldie after fudge-lyriced oldie (that can't be spelled right, but in my defense it's probably not really a word). "My Girl" turned into "My Fudge" and "I've Been Working on the Railroad" turned into "I've Been Working in the Fudgery" I think you see where I'm going with this. Needless to say, I wasn't in the mood and was just irritated at the spectacle.
As I have relayed my birdshit story to my family I've been met with other bird feces stories such as: "one time a bird pooped in my food" and "one time a bird pooped on my shoe." Here is my reaction: "THERE'S NO COMPARISON." And there isn't. The irony of it all is that I am always on the lookout for birds flying over my head as I would hate for them to poop on me. The ONE time I wasn't looking...
(You may be wondering if Audrey managed to snag a couple shots and the answer is that she did, however, this is my blog and I don't have to post unflattering pictures if I don't feel like it. Suckahs!)
Okay, three pics.
Doesn't this lady look disgusted? She should try smiling more, I don't think she knows what happened.
5 comments:
Oh Katie dear, I love your story telling, only wish I could have been there to witness this spectacle for myself, while I might have snapped a pic too I would like to think that afterwards I would have helped clean up the bird "shit".
That is why I HATE HATE HATE birds. I have had birds poop on m head twice. I feel your pain!
HAHAHA! I've only had a bird poop on my head once but it was one too many times.
Where's the pictures though? ;)
Hmmm, I wonder what that would feel like? You need to post the pic, it's hilarious!!!
I think you should post the picture too! I have really enjoyed your trip to Vegas so far... but you haven't posted 7 posts yet! We're still waiting for the rest of the story (or stories):) Very, very entertaining!
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