Our zoo has this cool place called Lorikeet Landing. If you've never seen one, this is a lorikeet:
Lorikeet Landing is this enclosed area with a bunch of - you guessed it - lorikeets flying around. For like $2, you can get a little cup of nectar stuff that these guys go crazy for, and they'll land on you and drink it right out of your hand.
I'm the picture of confidence.
Some people enjoy it more than others.
Anyway, we were on our way out yesterday when one landed on Curtis's shoulder.
Wouldn't it be funny if that bird pooped on Curtis? I secretly thought. Because Curtis is extremely picky about getting stuff on his clothes. Like if the kids have even the slightest speck of food on their hands and come near his sleeves, he's all, "Don't touch my shirt!" in this really frightened-sounding voice.
No sooner had the thought formed in my head than SPLAT! I saw a jet of liquid disgustingness stream from the bird's butthole region. And ohhh, how I laughed. "Ahahahaha! Curtis! That bird just pooped on you! He got it on your ... on your ..."
My eyes traveled over the expanse of Curtis's back. Over his clean shirt. I was ready to, at any moment, gleefully point out the splatter of avian ass-explosion ... but oddly, there was none. I was puzzled. I knew I had seen it, so where had it gone? The bird was sitting ON CURTIS. So how could its poop have mysteriously vanished into thin air?
Then I looked further down.
See that white cardigan-thingy I'm wearing in that picture up there?
Let's just say I found the poop. And that the cardigan is gonna need some bleach.