So I'm at the local library (literacy plug, literacy plug, literacy plug) right now after a most adventurous bike ride.
But first, I need to explain why I ride my bike to work. Here's the deal; I'm not a crazed health nut like some people (*coughsDADcoughs*), but I decided this summer that since my jobs aren't too far from my house, I might as well save gas money and burn calories by using the ol' wheel-machine-that-isn't-a-car.
Usually, it works out pretty good. I get all sweaty and gross, then I go chill at the library until I'm sufficiently cooleed down to be presented in public (no more red face, sweatvalanches, etc).
This morning, however, my bike had other plans.
My bike: SKREEEEEEEEECH!
Me: Uh, what just happened?
My bike: Mwahaha! I just snagged the hem of your jeans in my chain and RIPPED THEM ALL THE WAY TO MID-THIGH!
Me: Uh, was that really necessary?
My bike: No, probably not.
Me: Um, so, can you un-rip 'em?
My bike: Nope.
Me: Uh....that's not cool.
I was faced with an important decision then; turn around and get a new pair of jeans from home and get to work all sweaty and gross, or go to work with ripped pants (and by "ripped" I mean "not even pants anymore.")
My bike: [conversationally] You know, you do keep a spare pair of black jeans at Red Hanger.
Me: True. I'll just ride there and change. Thanks, evil bike!
My bike: Mwahaha! Oh, I mean, you're welcome.
And now my favorite pair of jeans is no more. RIP, Super-Comfortable-Jeans. I guess I'll be needing to go to Old Navy one of these days and get some more...
This is the final resting place- the dumpster behind Red Hanger.
Yeah, welcome to, I have skirts less open than that.
The hunter proudly poses with its kill.