Sunday, April 12, 2015

Something Felt Strange

I rushed home on Friday evening to try to take advantage of the last couple of hours of daylight. The half Ironman is now less than three weeks away and training has been particularly difficult to squeeze in in recent months because job and responsibility. And lazy. And tv.

My job has turned into a jealous mistress and every second I'm not in the office tending to its needs is a second I'll have to pay for dearly at a later time.

NOT THAT WE KNOW WHAT JEALOUS OR MISTRESS ARE, CATHIE.

But on Friday, I was determined to make it out the door in time to get a bike ride in while it was still light enough outside to be able to do so.

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining. The birds were chirping. The mailman had stuffed my mailbox with the entire neighborhood's worth of junk mail because of his very confusing vendetta against me.


Joke's on him though because about once a week I rub dog poop all over the mailbox lid.

I ran into the house, changed, pulled Paul Cyclemon out to the driveway, and we were off and away. I was very proud of how quickly I was able to get ready to go.

I knew something was wrong the moment I left the driveway. I knew something felt different. Strange. Not right. But I just couldn't pin it down. It was a little chilly. Maybe I should have worn a long-sleeved shirt. Maybe I should have put on better gloves. I decided to ignore the feeling that something wasn't right.

The Perfects were all out in their front yard playing catch and tickling each other and laughing in slow motion because that's what they do. They waved as I went by. I couldn't tell if they had given me a strange look. They always look at me with a certain concerned curiosity. This look seemed a little different, but I couldn't really figure out why.

So I rode on.

I went down the road quite a ways. I weaved through traffic. I greeted folks who were out weeding their flower beds. I passed groups of children. I glided passed two nuns. It was like I was in a Where's Waldo book. Every kind of person that exists was out wandering the streets of my bike path on Friday evening. I passed all of the human beings of the Earth. I saw all of you guys. Your hair looked amazing. Even David Hasselhoff was there. His hair looked amazing, too. But not as good as yours.

My hair also looked really good but you couldn't see it because I was wearing a helmet.

I was exactly three miles into this bike ride when I finally realized it. It occurred to me that my bike seat felt harder than usual. This is what felt different. I wondered if I had grabbed the wrong bike shorts.

I have this older pair of bike shorts that for some reason I haven't thrown away. Hashtag hoarding. The padding in them is almost nonexistent. They are uncomfortable and tattered. And every once in a while I accidentally retrieve them from my closet. Then I'll climb aboard the bike and notice how hard the seat is. Then I go back inside and change.

I was frustrated that I hadn't realized what I had done until I was three miles into this bike ride. I was too far away from home at this point to make it worth it to turn around and go all the way back to change my shorts. So I thought I would just have to deal with the discomfort.

So I rode on.

I made it another mile or two when something funny caught my eye. "I don't have any blue bike shorts," I thought to myself. So I looked more closely.

And you guys.

I had not in fact put on the wrong bike shorts. I had not put on any bike shorts at all. I was in my very blue underwear. On the streets of Salt Lake City. In front of nuns and children and The Perfects.

IN MY UNDERWEAR.

I knew exactly how it had happened. I had rushed home and pulled on these blue underwear. I wandered the house in them, searching for my biking clothes that were scattered about because we can't all be The Perfects. And in that mad search for decency, I think that once I pulled a shirt on, I just felt like I was fully clothed. So I went right on out the door. In my underwear. In front of nuns and children and The Perfects.

And there I was. Four or so miles away from home. Trapped on the conservative streets of Salt Lake City Utah 84105. In my underwear.

It was like that dream. The dream we've all had. But this wasn't a dream. This was real life. And I couldn't just wake up from it in my bed with a sigh of relief.

I know I joke a lot about how often I end up pants-less in situations where I shouldn't be pants-less. But the reason I joke about that so often is because sometimes IT ACTUALLY HAPPENS.

This is exactly why I need a footman. If Wade would take his duties more seriously, this sort of thing wouldn't happen.

~It Just Gets Stranger

33 comments:

  1. Shame on the Perfects for not saying something to you!

    At least your hair looked amazing! 😉

    ReplyDelete
  2. The only way to recover from this is to pretend you are so fashion forward that you were sporting the new biking trend of Speedo bike pants (because I'm assuming it was tightey whitey style underwear- you are free to correct me, all the Strangers would love the mental image). You're going to have to go out a few more times in various colors and patterns of underwear. To keep up the facade. Then one day, create a public scene in front of your house, making sure The Perfects are witnesses, declaring that this new fashion trend isn't working for you. The Perfects will tell the whole neighborhood, because despite being perfect they are incessant gossips. You will then be free to go back to normal bike shorts. Or, you could sell your house and move. Your choice.

    ReplyDelete
  3. I was so distracted by your amazing hair that I didn't notice what you weren't wearing.

    ReplyDelete
  4. THAT WAS YOU!? My sister and I were driving through Salt Lake City on Friday. We thought you were making a fashion statement. Or that you were very comfortable with your body.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Dang. I'm sorry I missed that. I wouldn't have complained, just saying.

    ReplyDelete
  6. When it got to the underwear part, my first reaction was to cover my eyes.

    I'd just go with it, man. Own it. Is there some ingenious way to twist this into a publicity thing for your campaign? Could you tell people that you raised $5000 for a worthy charity by purposely riding into busy SLC in your underwear?

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. This comment has been removed by the author.

      Delete
    2. A modern day lady Godiva

      Delete
  7. Every time I leave the house, I check my three pockets for three items: keys, cell phone, wallet. You might want a slightly adjusted routine, wherein you check for pants. Perhaps a full-length mirror by the door might help (with the added bonus of having an additional opportunity to admire your splendid hair). Shame about the helmet.

    ReplyDelete
  8. Replies
    1. Very true...

      Delete
    2. Oops posted this on the wrong thread... So I found this, I think a helmet qualifies as a nice hat: http://cps-static.rovicorp.com/3/JPG_400/MI0002/784/MI0002784693.jpg?partner=allrovi.com

      Delete
  9. OMG, I don't know why I drink anything while I read your blogs. I choked on my iced tea!! I can't stop laughing!

    ReplyDelete
  10. I am laughing so hard I'm CRYING... and I can't stop!!!

    ReplyDelete
  11. Um... but you're not supposed to wear underwear under bike shorts.... That's the rule!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I think he wore them while he was looking for his shorts, he must not like to walk around in the buff..... :)

      Delete
  12. I think this is why you need to befriend The Perfects. As you leave the house, they can look you over (you know they'll spot anything untoward) and yell "No Eli!" And point at your house. You will then be forced turn around and go back home and consider what they found wrong and correct it.

    ReplyDelete
  13. I was completely surprised at where this post ended up, not because there wasn't proper foreshadowing but because NO ONE ACTUALLY FORGETS TO PUT PANTS ON.

    Except you, apparently. :P

    ReplyDelete
  14. HOW DOES THIS ALWAYS HAPPEN TO YOU???

    ReplyDelete
  15. I read every post preparing for the inevitable end where Eli is somewhere inappropriately naked. Today I was not disappointed.

    ReplyDelete
  16. I kept telling myself, "Please be a dream, please say you woke up and it was just a dream...pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease, for the love of all that is good and right in the world, PLEASE be a dream!!!"
    Of course this ends up being not a dream, because (for a minute there, I forgot) this was Eli we're talking about here.

    ReplyDelete
  17. Not that we know what underwear are Cathie!!

    Xoxo :)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I know we say that sentence a lot around here, but this one made me actually LOL.

      I think you may just be funnier then Eli, Krishelle.

      :D

      Delete
  18. B R I M = Bike Riding In My....... drawz! That's whassUP!

    ReplyDelete
  19. Alright Strangers, now we have to add to our list of Eli reminders:

    No Ironman!
    Take the trash out tonight
    Get dressed BEFORE leaving the house
    Etc, etc

    I apologize, Eli, we have really been falling down on the job! Your hair looks amazing though.

    ReplyDelete
  20. If this is what you are like now what are you going to do when you start having kids?! You do know they suck brain cells, right? Maybe that's just from moms. Of course, your wife will be ultra competent and keep you on track. ...hopefully.

    ReplyDelete
  21. Don't forget the trash tonight!

    ReplyDelete
  22. Oh my gosh it is Tuesday isn't it!!!

    ReplyDelete
  23. This has made me so, so happy.

    Sorry I'm responding so late to all your posts - I have a million blogs in my Feedly and I fall behind occasionally. Yours is one I make sure to ALWAYS read, though (eventually), so you should feel special.

    And since it's Tuesday again, don't forget about your trash.

    ReplyDelete