Some of you may have noticed that La Mom is a little scatological these days. Chalk up my obsession with
merde to a combination of potty training and the ungodly amount of dog doo in my neighborhood. The weak Parisian March sun is out and so, apparently, are the
très chic French bulldogs.
I’d finally given a big Gallic shrug to the poop situation and decided to make my peace with it.
That is, until I got attacked from above.
In my own home.
That’s right, La Mom fell victim to a
Flying Crap Attack!
Mais oui, if it isn’t enough to do a drunken tiptoe ballet to avoid the
crottes every time I set foot on the sidewalk, now I have to duck for cover. Springtime in Paris also brings out the birds. Lots of them. And it seems like they’re on a mission to decorate every car in sight.
But now they’ve gone too far.
Today I had my bedroom windows flung open to circulate a bit of fresh air. As I came back in a few minutes later, I heard a rustling noise in the corner next to my armoire. A sparrow! You know, one of those cute little brown birds you find all over the city.
“
Bonjour, you poor little birdie,” I crooned, planning on shooing it out the window. He cocked his tiny head, blinked his beady eyes, and swooped into dive-bomb mode. Wait, make that
dookie-bomb.
My little feathered friend had chosen my Porthault bedspread as a target. It’s hard to say who was flapping more furiously around the room – me or the bird. To add insult to injury, he crapped all over my sky-blue Gerard Darel suede jacket on his way to join his pigeon buddies gorging on tourists’ baguettes at the Tuileries.
Merde, alors.
