So Where Is My Luck?

On Sunday at the park, a bird shit in my hair.  I felt it, like a pea-shooter, sort of twhap! as it hit my head. 

"Did a bird just shit on my head?" I asked.

"No, not unless it's white," said my ever-joking husband.  But, just as when I ask, "Does my butt look fat in these jeans?" HE DIDN'T REALLY LOOK.

We played on the playground. We went to see the ducks.  We hung out at the park for a good hour.

When I got back in the car, I looked in the mirror.  Sure enough, there it was.  "Look at this!  You are so useless!" I cried.

And he laughed until he cried.

Why do we get married again?

And where is my good luck, dammit?