Bike shorts, and other atrocities
Okay, so I could wear regular old shorts. Sure. As long as I don't object to being an underwear model to all the oncoming bike traffic. And, let's face it: at 41, it don't matter if I'm in$5000 worth of Vicky Secret's best stuff. Who wants to see that? So it's the bike shorts. Two malevolent tubes of black spandex that make my ass look like a burlap bag full of bobcats and my thighs.....well, we won't discuss the thighs. I read somewhere that the reason men's bicycles have a bar at crotch level (which never seemed totally logical to me, really) and women's bicycles don't is that ladies 100 years ago wore floor length gowns while biking, and these ladies needed room for their skirts to fall daintily. Huh. Come to think of it, I'll bet those dresses could hide all KINDS of body issues. I'll have to think about this.
But, all self-indulgent whining aside, I did bring the camera along so I could show you why I think I live in the most beautiful spot in the entire world. I really did. Then I left it tucked securely in my purse. In the pick-up. Sorry about that. I'll make it up to you, I swear.
We also walked around the antique stores in Snohomish and held hands and generally acted like a goofy pair of newlyweds. So in the end, the bike shorts didn' t win (although I sense that they are not vanquished--merely biding their time in the drawer until they can catch me unaware). I had a great day.
Oh, and if you want some really wonderful shots of our fair state, go to fairieknits . My dear friend had a wonderful time in the outdoors with her beloved, and actually remembered to take pictures. Love ya, C.