As the long-suffering owner of two consecutive cars of a nondescript tan/light gold, I can’t emphasize enough that no-one should ever buy a car of this colour for sanitary reasons.
My registration document is adamant that my car is silver and there could be some argument to be made for that depending on how the light hits it. But what always hits it is bird poop.
The evidence.
Every swooping, fluttering, soaring winged creature in the yard – flies and dragonflies included – score a direct hit time and time again. I’ve even seen a teeny thread emit from a chugging, ungainly ladybug that was barely able to clear the front bumper.
You almost missed!
It’s as if there is an invisible connection linking their poop apertures to every exterior part of my car: hood, trunk, top, windows, doors. They even manage to direct their poo to the inside wheel rims. Now that’s excremental talent.
Why do these creatures seem to view my car as their preferred latrine? It’s a life mystery that has repeatedly escaped my understanding.
Although, they don’t always reserve their attention for my car – they also seem attracted to any laundry I hang on the washing line. Interestingly, they are not discerning of the colour of these items, which is disappointing as I had assumed if I didn’t wear clothing of a tan/light gold colour (and who would want to) that my apparel would be safe. But no, they are equal opportunity poopers, happy to foul any hue of shirt, pants, underwear and socks.
Which also scuppers any plan to buy a car of a totally different colour in the future in the hopes of avoiding all this crappy attention. On the plus side, I have noticed that these tan-ish cars are always the cheapest on the lot, leading me to believe that car dealers have knowledge of their role as poop magnets.
Well, I have decided that the only solution to this problem is to tunnel into the vegetable garden and build a subterranean chamber where my car would be safe from diarrhetic avians. Or I could just put a door on the garage I suppose.
Car wash, here I come.
by angela lovell 