Birds of a Feather

J and I were walking along the canal behind the campus on a chilly winter evening. We had been "hanging out" for a few weeks and he had just recently discovered that when he swung over to kiss me I didn't actually knock his block off like I had previously threatened to. I had recently discovered that perhaps this kissing thing wasn't as bad as past experience had convinced me it was. Perhaps I had just found a guy who was better at it.
But I digress.
The night was clear and crisp, and the old trees branched out over the canal, which glittered with reflections of lights from the other side.
We stopped under a tree. Flirting, laughing, holding hands. He leaned in.
I heard fireworks...No, not fireworks. Little spashing sounds in the canal.

Ploonk. Plunk ploonk. Plink plunk ploonk.

We looked up to discover that we had paused under a patch of trees serving as a resting area for the entire bird population of Seattle.
And they were all relieving themselves at the same time.
"RUN!"
Somehow we managed to escape the (literally!) thousands of tiny bombs that ensued and made our way back to the sidewalk of safety without any battle wounds.
Ah, romance.