They looked like nice enough townies

So, if this was the in-person, vocal version of this story, I'd really draw it out and add in faces and crap, but (short of finding a scanner, which I need to do anyway as I finally have pics of myself with short hair and I'm sure someone out there wants to see that) instead y'all get the slightly chopped down version of Monday's Saga.

I was sent to pick up some props for the musical, and (after finding directions to what I thought was the proper street off Mapquest or Yahoo or something) decided to just bike there instead of asking around for a car ride. Unfortunately, I didn't look at the fact that the trip (by car) was supposed to take three miles - not much in an automobile, a whole bunch on my legs.

Before getting lost.

And lost.

And back on track before getting lost again.

Eventually, I did manage to find the path again, though by this point I was basically behind Wal-Mart (for those of you with an idea of how Kirksville is laid out). I made it to the road listed on the sheet and started looking for the antiques store that was supposed to be there.

Obviously, it wasn't. The map, in its infinate brillance, had sent me to "Dogwood Street" instead of "Dogwood Lane." Somewhat less than amused, I decided Wal-Mart owed me something new and pretty because I'd taken all that pointless time to end up three miles away from campus and was in no mood to return to the highway and all the scary fast cars.

So, I'm just pedaling along on a residental street, basically dead, when two nine-year-old-looking townies bike past. However, in the best part of the story (or, perhaps, just the universe deciding it had to make the trip up for me somehow), one of the townies yelled while going past [in the most wonderful lisp ever], "My fwiend wants your phwone numer!"

I'm sad to report that I had no fabulous comeback for the little helions, as my brain was approximately dead by that point. However, nearly everyone I know thinks it's hilarious that, what with my inner seven-year-old-ness, the nine-year-olds are after me.

It's amazing how worthwhile one little comment will make six miles of near-death experience seem okay.


That, and my legs must be friggin' awesome.