I am a reenactor, typically French and Indian War. This means that I spend a lot of time camping in a canvas tent and wearing puffy dresses. The puffier the better actually. One of the best parts about an event is getting to make friends and know other reenactors. This past weekend I was at Muster on the St. Mary’s.
The lovely women at this event put together a pitch-in dinner for all of us participants to get together and do one of the most ancient of traditions… eat until we couldn’t move. My weapon of choice was rhubarb pie. That isn’t important to the story. As we (my boyfriend) and I were sitting at this long table outside enjoying the sunshine, I thought I saw something fall in my lap.
Enjoying my second piece of rhubarb pie I looked down when the crust I was shoveling in fell in my lap. I looked down… no. Looked up. Looked back down… sigh. Looked over at the boyfriend. “Can you get me some pie?” He was slightly confused “I guess, but why can’t you get it?”
Because. A bird just took a giant crap on me. That’s why.