Droppings

It's a bird, it's a plane, it's super-turd! It was lovely out, breezy, light, peaceful, I was looking pretty spiffy, and I was in good spirits - having come from a very promising meeting with someone I respected. I walked into the busy streets of Times Square, and at that precise moment, I could have been a walking billboard of smiles, and sparkling eyes, advertising the effects of natural mood enhancing - when someone who you admire gives you the time of day. And then, SPLAT! Gee, I thought to myself, must be a leaky air-conditioner, or a myriad of other wet things that squish around in and on the Great White Way. But no, it was just a giant deposit made by a passing pigeon, almost looked like the slime spewed out of those nasty ghosts in "Ghostbusters." And as the detritus kept moving down my arm, I kept thinking, wow, this is luck be a lady, and that lady is me. People in the streets inevitably saw the creeping slime, and moved away from me gently, I paid it no mind. Perhaps I'm nuts, but this was a funny confirmation that maybe things are finally looking up. I went to the Marriott Marquis and washed off my arm, and then noticed some of the droppings had reached the right sleeve of my jacket, so I doused it in the sink. Guests of the hotel, or tourists that were about to see the musical next store inquired about my hand-washing, and jacket-soaking. "What happened to you dearie?" "Oh, a bird shat on me." "That's terrible, how gross." "Oh, no it's fine," I replied, probably looking a little batty, with one of those Woody Allen pasted smiles on my face. "Haven't you heard? It's good luck." "Oh dearie, you're great, what an optimist!" "Good luck getting that out of the sleeve though." "Thanks, it's no problem at all." It's really not. I am so happy to have had a good meeting that restored my faith. I was starting to feel like a battered woman with trust issues. But good things are being reinstated slowly but surely on this strange curve called life.