My inevitable bird shit debacle

I had been holding off on telling the story of my great escape so as not to jinx myself, but it didn't do me any good, so you get it now.

A couple of weeks ago, I was enjoying myself on the beach at Progreso, sitting just outside of the shelter of a palapa (tempting fate, you might say). Eyes on the sky, I saw a flight of gulls swooping in off the ocean, and knew my time had come. Saw the droppings dropping from the sky. Watched them land not 5 feet in front of me (very much on the lap of the gentleman sprawled on the lounge chair, who I can only assume the gulls mistook for me).

I didn't want to get too cocky, but I figured that was my bird shit experience for the trip, and considered myself in the clear. Until later that same day, when I came back to my chair after a pit stop to find it covered. Bullseye (except for the fact that the target had moved).

In any case, never fear, last night in the central park here in Valladolid, I was hit, dead on.

Well played, birds, well played.