names have not been changed to protect the guilty...I want everyone to know who they are.
today was cinco de mayo.
tonight, dear ashley and I go looking for our ward's cinco de mayo party, but it was m.i.a., so we headed over to matthew's apartment, but by the time we found out he wasn't home, it was too late to make a quick exit.
His (somewhat creepy) roommates asked if we wanted to see they chickens. we were intrigued. who grows chickens in a provo apartment? well, these guys do, in a big plastic bin on their balcony. for the eggs, they said. two birds, one month old--Buttercup and Titus. Roommate #2 asked if I wanted to hold a chicken. Intrigued and wanting to commune with nature, I picked up a bird (Titus, the more dominant of the two). Its beak was super close to my face, and there might have been some freaking out involved, but I held the bird for quite some time. I thought we bonded, but apparently not.
All of the sudden, I look down and am covered in chicken poop. honestly, probably chicken diarrhea. The grossest thing I have ever smelled and way too much from a small bird.
All down my shirt, my new tan skirt and on my feet.
Ashley left, doubled over in laughter, and I took toilet paper from creepy roommate #1 to "clean up the chunks" as he put it, before running home to soak my clothes.
I think its safe to say matthew can come visit us from now on. Even now as I type, the smell of chicken poop still haunts my memory.
I might not ever be the same.
but it gives a new mean to the phrase "party pooper"