Squirrel poo = good luck?

Are we all full of rage? I keep reading about angry women, articles about how much more irate about life, men, work, the whole kit and caboodle we are. There just may be something in it. I found myself furious earlier, after a 12hr exhausting day, to find that when I went to put my car away, my other half had locked the inner garden gate so I had to lock the car, walk 200m up the road and back down the garden to unlock it. I was cursing and mumbling death threats in his direction (as he sat watching the football), even though it was a lovely night and knowing inside I was massively overreacting. And then, as I stood under the conker tree, pulling open the gate, still cursing, a squirrel took a dropsie from twenty feet up, and it landed squarely, or rather, lengthily, on my right arm, from shoulder to elbow. I know it was a squirrel as a) it was green and looked nothing like pigeon poo, and b) when I looked up, it was looking down, laughing. No more walnuts, brazil nuts, no treats for you lot from me anymore.

http://wp.me/pyxPm-1U

Alopecia inducing peanuts only from now on. Calmed me down though. It knew. It bloody knew!

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