This is when you know you're far gone...

It was just a typical evening around the dinner table. There we were. At the table. With food. Typical. Our dining room window sat to the side of both of us as we devoured garden and chicken burgers (VERY typical). Nothing was unusual..that is, until I saw the streak across the glass pane next to me. It was obvious what it was. No, it wasn't marshmallow fluff, nor was it white out. It couldn't be vanilla ice-cream or shaving cream, or even soggy toilet paper. No, it was clear. It was bird poop. BIRD POOP. Now, there isn't anything atypical about bird poop. Heck, I once had a bird poop on my head. It happens! But what followed next was glaring evidence of how far gone this medical school journey has taken us.

-"EW! There is BIRD POOP all over our window," I said to Tyler, in disgust as I chomped just a little less vivaciously on my garden burger patty.
-"Hmmmmm..." Tyler responded, examining the bird poop with a much too curious look on his face.
-"What?" I asked him, wondering why in the world he was so interested in feces, but at the same, knowing what must be coming.
-"The bird that pooped on our window had [INSERT LONG, LATIN-SOUNDING, DISEASE-ESQUE DIAGNOSIS]. Do you see the blood in it?"

I looked a little closer at the white streak (don't ask me why) and sure enough, there were traces of blood in the bird poop. I sat back down and looked at my garden burger. I saw the ketchup on it. Suddenly I wasn't hungry anymore. Tyler, however, continued to chow down on his dinner as though nothing was out of the normal! But for me, this just went to show how far we had fallen in life -- spending our romantic dinners together diagnosing sick birds who thoughtlessly defecated on our otherwise beautifully pristine windows.

Regardless of how I feel about dinner, however, it's at least comforting to me to know that if Tyler doesn't make it as a doctor, at least he can help all the sick birds in the world. You're welcome little birdies.