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I remember clearly: I was in a good mood that day when I was disturbed by a puddle of bird poop. It was a pleasant morning. It rained the night before, and the air, sunshine, and the plane trees in front of the building were all fresh and refreshing, as if they had just been washed with water. The green lawn exuded a pleasant smell of grass sprouts. My wife and I went downstairs together. In the corridor, my wife also told a happy story. Yesterday, a patient gave her a flower basket, which was placed on the window sill of their nurse's duty room. All in all, I was in a good mood before I saw that puddle of bird poop. My wife's and mine are placed side by side. The pink bicycle is hers, and the bright blue electric scooter is mine. Just as we each took out the keys and were about to unlock the door, I suddenly discovered that there was a pool of bird droppings on the right handlebar of the electric car. It was black and white and splattered, staining most of the handlebar.