When something distasteful happens we all reach for words of comfort.

Sunday, my daughter was victimized by a airborne slimy missile. 

Without warning, the winged abuser took a dump right on her head in broad daylight.

Understandably, she announced her displeasure.

I ran to her aid and said, “That’s good luck!”

Seriously, that was the best I could do?!

I redeemed myself and found a tissue in my pocket.

I have been monitoring her the past 72 hours and I have not witnessed an overt run of good luck.

Nothing extraordinary has happened.

She is still the whip smart, beautiful, compassionate woman, but things are pretty much status quo.

I was hoping that she would literally bump into a handsome, successful, erudite man who is striving to achieve world peace or have her pick the winning lottery numbers, perhaps land Oprah as a client, but, to date, no significant action.

Allow me to digress and point out that these displays of positivity have some merit.

Our wedding was to take place outside by the water.

30 minutes before the service was to begin, it poured.

Concerned, the hordes of attendees excitedly pronounced that when it rains on your wedding day it is good luck.

I was more worried about my hair and the 250 guests, but I stored the info away for a rainy day.

Well, the proof is in the pudding and 32 years later, we are still happily married.

Learning my lesson, I will keep the faith and continue to monitor Courrtny’s life and see what’s up.

I wonder what the statute of limitations on a good luck run from a bird pooping on your head is?

*Photo:bdnari.com