Sunday, May 29, 2011

Desperately Seeking People Who Are Cooler Than I Am

Traffic school this morning. Hmm. Drive or bike? Better not take any chances. Bike it is, then. So then I think to myself, “Every chance I go out on a bike, I have the opportunity to proselytize my mission.” (Oh, I know I live in Utah, and when I say “bike” and “proselytize” you have a certain picture in mind. It’s not that kind of mission. Though, yes, I have done that kind of mission. Note: biking + skirts = a jumbled mess of lost dignity.) No, this mission is regarding the “cool-ification” of biking.

And with that, Operation “Make Biking Look Cool” is a go.

Outfit comprised of clothes given to me by, or purchased at stores frequented by, chic people? Check. Sunglasses? Check. Sassy heels? Check. Ready? Go. That’s right, work that helmet, girl. By the way, good job on fluffing your hair out the sides like that instead of pulling it back into a ponytail; hair flowing in the breeze really enhances the sex-appeal of a bicycle helmet. And that purple string keeping your pant leg out of the gears really adds a great pop of color around your calf. Nice. Ooh, stoplight ahead. Don’t worry; you can do this. Smoothly take your wedge sandal off the pedal . . . no, don’t get snagged . . . and gently skim the sidewalk as you’re coming to a stop. Don’t trip, don’t trip, please, don’t trip. Ah, well done. Retain cool, calm, collected look on your face. Don’t look anyone in the eyes. Remaining aloof increases your allure and biker-chick prowess. That’s right, honey. When you get pulled over by a cop today, things will switch to slow-motion as you get off your bike, take off your helmet, shake out your hair and ask, with sultry, pouty lips, “What’s seems to be the trouble, Officer?” The only thing you’re going to hear is, "Ma’am, Miss, you have the right to remain foxy—you biking little minx, you.”

See, everyone, biking is cool.

Okay, so it didn’t quite play out like that. Who am I kidding? I tried really hard to look awesome. But, I don’t think I fooled anyone. Though I occasionally manage to mask it somewhat, I have always been . . . hmm . . . let’s just say, dork-esque. I just can’t seem to shake it. And so, it was on this bike ride to adult detention that I realized my new mission needed fresh faces to sell it properly. So, if you are cool or know somebody who is, please accept my invitation and challenge: get out there and bike. People will be inspired by you. Or at least feel socially inferior and therefore peer-pressured by you into doing it. Please. I need you to do what I cannot. Your influence will spread and soon we will solve all the world’s problems. Or maybe just the world’s energy crises.

No? Still too melodramatic? Okay, then, maybe just my gas budget.

And my speeding ticket budget.

Come and get me, Copper! You in hot pursuit? Or, rather, in pursuit of hotness . . . {wink}? That’s right, Officer, eat my dust. Wait, . . . wait’ll I get up to speed. Nuts, my gears keep slipping. Hang on. Okay, I’ve got it, now. There we go, how’s THAT for speed? Wait, no, my pants are snagged on the frame. Hold on . . .

See what I mean? No one will EVER convert if I’M the spokesmodel.

{Tee hee--“spokes” model.}

Stop me now.

“You have the right to remain silent.”

What? No, I told you earlier. The line is: “You have the right to remain foxy—you biking little . . .”


Note taken.

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