What is in my hair?

It’s 11:15pm. I stand in front of the kitchen sink drinking a pre-recovery break (also know as short periods of sleep) glass of water after (yet another) 15 hour day at the office. I sigh lightly releasing a part of the day and run my hand through my hair. My hand sticks briefly on something tar like.  On inspection I appear to have shit on my head.   The symbology no longer bothers with vague allusions, it’s now on my frickin head – you sir have had a shitty day. Suddenly I’m tasked with figuring out how I have non avian poo on my head at 11 o’clock at night after being in an enclosed Office space or automobile since 6:30am. Pieces of my day begin to dance before me. I recall Robin the fairy goddess of all things snack and beverage taunting me with cookies in the middle of a conference call.  I remember muting the phone so I could eat them.  And that memory triggers another. Hearing from two cubes away a request for Robin to grant permission to throw a cookie.  This would explain why I recall  something being thrown into my cube during another conference call. No direct blows and nothing broke so the event quickly faded into the oblivion of my call and the rest of the day.  So now I  stand staring at what looks like a robust turd on my finger. Ewwww. Then I began to get a sweet smell.  I assemble the memories, Oatmeal chocolate chip. I lick my finger. My shitty day just had a sweet ending.