Holy Shit

Holy shit comes from the sky. In the form of bird droppings.

As I was walking to work this morning, in my knee-high black leather boots, taking in the crisp fall air, I was feeling pretty pleased with myself: a signficant proportion of the men I passed ogled me. I am hot shit. Ahh, yes. Hot. Shit.

When I arrived at work, I commenced my usual routine. Turn on computer. Pick up coffee mug. Drop coffee mug in sink to soak. Go to bathroom and inspect self in mirror to make sure nothing has gone awry during the peregrination to work.

Wait a sescond - what is that extra accessory between my shoulder and collar bone? Holy shit!

I instantly rewind to the stretch of the road directly beneath the lamppost on the southeast corner of the park. Something had collided with my shoulder. "How strange," I had thought, "it feels like someone just hit me with a small stone. But who would do such a thing? If it wasn't that, then something has fallen from the sky. But what?!" I then continued on my journey and didn't think about it again until I was work, staring in the mirror at a huge glob of bird shit on my person.

I was quickly humbled, realizing my fresh, good looks had not inspired the stares.

However, I was heartened on my walk home. Men were ogling me. Old men, young men, hot men, cold men. Men, glorious men!

And when I arrived home, my kind mirror confirmed that I was free from holy shit.