Two mornings ago I was in a bind. And by bind I mean both as a difficult situation and as tight or restricted clothing. How did I get there? I will explain.
I wore my hippy skirt on my bicycle.
If you've ever done this, that will explain everything to you. If not, keep reading.
I was going to work and I decided to wear my new flowing hippy skirt and my new "hipster" glasses. I made it to Queen West when my bike started to slow down for no really good reason. (Or so I thought).
I pedaled harder.
I jerked to a dead stop.
I looked down for the problem, expecting something to be wrong with my front tire. Nothing. I craned around to see the back tire and my ENTIRE skirt was wedged up in brakes. Both sides. All of the skirt, which is a LOT of skirt.
I was completely stuck. I couldn't move around to unstick myself. I couldn't move my bike off the road because my legs were jammed up close to the bike. I couldn't get my skirt out. I couldn't bike forwards or backwards. I made a sound that I haven't heard since my Grandma passed on that was somewhere between "Hmph!" and "Pfffft".
I bent my knees and picked up my entire bike between my legs and crab walked to the sidewalk so I didn't get killed. I tried to get off the bike while still in the skirt and went careening (still attached to the bike) into an open doorway.
I picked my bike back up and crab walked closer to the street to wave down a passing pedestrian. I can add that although I was undoubtedly sketchy with my skirt around my waist, I was still dressed like a normal woman. I started calling out to passing female cyclists.
"Hey! Help! Help!"
They rocketed by. WTF?
"HEY! HELP ME, PLEASE! I'm STUCK! My skirt is STUCK! You! Agggggh! HELP MEEEEEEEE"
Nothing. Not even a glance. Was I on mute? I started leaning into the road and reaching my hands out beseechingly as I called to the passing cyclists. At one point there was a tear.
"YOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUU!!!! I NEED HELP! PLEASE! I CAN'T UNSTICK MY SKIRT! I AM STUCK! FUCK! STUCK I SAY! AAAAAAAAAAGHHHH!!!! HELP ME!!!"
Considered my options. I could rip my skirt open and walk home in my underwear. Not a good move in Parkdale. I could call Allison and ask her to please bike down and save me. Possible, but I would undoubtedly hear about it for the rest of my life. (She pointed out yesterday that now that I have told the story, I will hear about this for the rest of my life anyways. Hmm.)
I reached back. Four car honks, some ripping noises and one sunburn later, I was free!
The tea club hypothesized that maybe nobody helped me because I was in my hipster glasses? Could this be true? Are these glasses carrying a hipster curse?
Image of Queen West in Toronto by sillygwailo.