My Mother was a Circus Clown

For those of you who firmly believe that I never have even a moment of co-ordination, this is for you:

I was biking to church on Sunday. In a skirt and top, on a really lovely day. However...not far from home a spider that had been hiding somewhere decided to climb up over my hand. Which elicited a scream from me. And I didn't fall off the bike.

And because it was clearly out to kill me, I started flailing my arms in a panic, hoping to kill it first. And I didn't fall off the bike.

Said flailing arms hit the basket - which had baking, a raincoat and my only pair of glasses - which promptly popped off its hook. With one arm still flailing I managed to catch the basket before it hit the ground, and get it hooked on a handle. And I didn't fall off the bike.

The spider was either killed or disappeared on its own, I had my basket with all of its contents intact, and a shred of a shred of dignity and through the whole thing I didn't fall of the bike.


See? I'm not always a klutz. At least that's how I'm looking at the whole thing.

Sadly, that one shred of dignity melted away when we first went to stand during the service and I realized that the lining to the skirt (totally necessary, given the thin material of the skirt and the screaming fuschia of the underwear) was more or less around my waist. I tried surreptitiously pulling it into place but in the end had to scuttle past the couple holding hands, trying without an unsurprising lack of success to pull the hem of my top down far enough to hide the wardrobe malfunction. Still, it was a nice day and I enjoyed the ride home. No spiders, and I arrived home with all articles of clothing where they were supposed to be.