Adventures on a Bike, Part 4
I don’t wear underwear under my exercise pants. Whatever, I’ve said it, it’s true, and I don’t care if you think I’m weird. I think you’re gross getting your underwear all shoved up your crack while stretching/running/biking/toning/jazzercising/curving/whatever. So there. Now, on to the important part of the story.
After work every day, I change out of my jeans or other much-less-dressy-than-you-wear-to-work pants (and underwear) and change into my biking pants. I then put my jeans in my backpack and ride my wonderful purple bike home.
For my birthday, the Princess, my darling though somewhat spoiled “baby” sister (of 25…again…years), got me a bike basket. The first week with my new fancy shmancy bike basket on the back of my bike, I get down with my backpack stuffed full of jeans and think to myself, there’s really no reason to carry this extra weight on my back now that I have this ever-so-useful bike basket! So, OUT come the jeans, straight into the basket and off I go riding home.
Now, it just so happens that my birthday closely correlates to the beginning of the undergraduate school year here on beautiful University of Michigan campus. Meaning, the undergrads are back. (Ugh.) So I got about a billion odd looks on the way home. This is standard. I believe between the ages of 18 and 22, developing and perfecting as many ugly, odd, dirty, bizarre looks as possible is almost as important as underage drinking and promiscuous sex. So fine, whatever, I got funny looks.
I arrive at home, get down off my pretty purple bike and go to grab my jeans from my new oh-so-practical bike basket. And yes, there is my lacy purple thong hanging not only out of my jeans, but out of the basket altogether, caught by one simple thread to maximize the viewing pleasure of undergrads and commuters alike, dancing along in the wind behind me.