I discovered something on our camping trip over the holiday. I learned a lesson about thinking before acting. I discovered what...well, let me back up and tell this story in order.
Beast and I decided we would play a game of cards by lantern and campfire light before going to bed. We spent the day on Long Beach with the kids playing in the sand, flying kites, making s'mores and watching amazing fireworks. I sat on the bench and when I moved I felt my pants stick, like I had sat in something sticky. So I stood, touched the back of my pants to figure out what it was and sure enough, there was about a 1/4 inch of something sticky on my pants. I assumed it was residual candy from the Boy having sat in that vicinity earlier in the day enjoying his parade loot.
So I smelled my fingers. Nothing.
Then, since we didn't have running water, I made the big mistake of licking my finger.
I think I was tired.
I think I may have been delirious.
I think I may have just not been thinking.
Really? Was this the best way to clean my hand?
A few minutes later, before sitting back down in anything that might still remain on the seat, I used the lantern to inspect the bench.
This is the moment I realized things had gone horribly wrong.
The ONLY thing on that bench was what looked like bird poop. Yes, bird poop. So, I turned to the Beast and asked if what was on my pants was white.
His only response was hysterical, blinding, pee-inducing laughter.
It was the only answer I needed to make me realize all the other options I had other than LICKING. THE. BIRD. SHIT. OFF. MY. FINGERS.
For the record, bird poop tastes like nothing. Not in the nothing-you-have-ever-tasted-before sense, truly, it tasted like nothing. But still, I was, and still am, incredibly skeeved out.