No, Matt didn't complain.
Worse.
I got pooped on.
Let me explain. It was a gorgeous, 70-degree spring day and we were riding around with the windows open, like so:
Then, all of the sudden, something purple, wet, and warm careens through the window, hits my shorts, and ricochets onto the passenger seat. On further examination (I'm a doctor, so trust me, I'm distressingly well-versed in all things fecal), it was definitely bird poop. Yuck!
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