Number four number two

This is going to be more of a rant than anything else, except maybe a survey.  The other day I was walking in the light drizzle on West Broadway when I suddenly thought, "Gee, that was a rather heavy and warm raindrop that just landed on my arm."  This would be gross, yet unremarkable, if it weren’t the fourth time I had been crapped on by a bird in my relatively short life.  Once at camp, once at the Calgary Zoo, once at Disney World, and now once in Kitsilano.  An informal survey of my friends revealed no one else who has chanced upon this singularly disgusting misfortune even once.  So I’m wondering, what makes me so lucky?  Does this happen to anyone else out there?