I have been meaning to post for weeks. As you can tell, it’s gone really well.
A friend of mine recently started a blog and has these very well thought-out posts with some sort of theme to them. I was inspired and decided I should start doing that too. The result, well, as you can see the result was not to post at all. So here I am, finally, posting. And I decided since I wanted to be inspired by her blog, I would do a spin-off.
She recently wrote a post on an unfortunate bird-pooping-incident. The aforementioned bird landed its defecation directly in her open eye. It sounds horrifying, right? Well I too recently had a bird-pooping-incident. It is not nearly so interesting, so don’t be disappointed. And first I should give some background.
My husband and I were recently married and prior to our marriage I traveled across the Atlantic to Nigeria to meet his family. In Nigeria most couples wait until they are both finished their education and settled in their careers to marry. This is all fine and well for Nigerians and any couples from other nations that are responsible enough to follow that life-plan, but I was a vagabond traveler after my Bachelor’s degree and my husband took off on an internship in South America. In short, no Masters degrees to speak of and no set career momentarily. Ah, c’est la vie. BUT that is what led my now mother-in-law to believe that Lanre and I would become impregnated quickly after marriage (as is their custom). While I was visiting she told me she expected twin boys by next Easter (that would now be this Easter). My response, “Well thank you for that burden!” I laughed – she didn’t.
We are not pregnant and not expecting children any Easter any time soon. The curse of twin boys, however, follows me where a fetus has not. Last Spring my grandmother had a very vivid dream about my future children. Two boys – two little halfrican boys – were in a playpen. One was sitting quietly playing with a toy while the other desperately attempted to climb out of the playpen. My grandmother had no prior knowledge that my mother-in-law had already predicted twin boys.
So, back to my bird-pooping-incident. Lanre and I had a rendezvous in New York City recently where, unsurprisingly, I had a bird poop on my shoulder. I didn’t know until I went back to work that Monday.
When one of the members saw that a bird pooped on me he said, “Oh! You know what that means? When a bird poops on a newly married young lady that means she’s going to have twins.” After my death glare he apologized but assured me that was indeed an old wives tale.
So here I am newly married with the pleasant prospects of twins on the future (yes, future) horizon. I think if any more birds try to poop on me they might get a taste of my slingshot skills.