My least favorite part of biking everywhere is the lack of anonymity.  I’ve been getting phone calls and texts everyday from people who “saw me biking around.”  I’m  not sure what the purpose of telling me that is, but it seems to really press on people to let me know.

I mean, I don’t think I look that cool with my bangs blowing straight back in the wind and my nose running (it’s allergy season).  On the really good days, I sport the latest of my accessories, “sweat,” as well.

Yesterday as I was biking home with a bunch of toilet paper under my arm, I couldn’t help but wonder what sort of social response to expect.  As I turned the corner onto my street, I was met by a torrent of bikers- all of which looked way more serious than I did in my ruffled taffeta shirt and slippery black flats.  They were all decked out in sportswear and helmets and spandex and their bikes probably even came from a recent decade.  I tried not to feel like a tool, but it was tough.  They were all staring at me, biking along at a good clip, holding my bath tissue.

This stuff isn’t for the hipster.