Face palm

 [ crime scene / exhibits A and B / today, 6:37 PM ]

Guys.

Oh my god.

Out of pure humiliation, I would take this information to my grave, but there are two problems with this strategy:

1. It's just not my style #oversharingforlife!

2. You would inevitably figure it out the next time you saw me on my bike

And the bike in question? Yes, the one that was "stolen" 5 days ago. Read more here.

So today, after popping off the subway one stop earlier to run errands (I'm taking the subway due to my stolen bike, you remember?),  I caught a glimpse of a familiar shade of turquoise. Sure enough, there was my bike locked to a post right there on Bloor Street only a couple blocks from my house! 

The nerve of this bike thief! The effin' balls, man! 

Then I realized that the bike beside it, sharing a lock, was Alex's! Aha! Caught! As I prepared to wait it out, conjuring up an epic shame-on-you rant for the glorious moment when I would confront this bold character, it sunk in: the bikes were affixed to the pole with Alex's lock. The only person who could possibly be responsible: Alex.

I couldn't decide whether to be overjoyed or mortified. (I'm still undecided)

It's something we've done before. I'll paint it for you. Typical summer Saturday: bike almost all the way home from boozy night out, realize we are craving post-party greasy snacks, lock up our bikes outside the burrito joint, procure burrito, and start to walk home before remembering that we were, of course, avec bikes. "Oh haha, silly us." Honest mistake, though: BFB is walking distance to our house, and not somewhere we would normally cycle. AND, under the intoxication of refried beans and chipotle hot sauce, we're bound to lose our heads a little. This time, though? We left them there, walked all the way home, went to bed, and came to the only conclusion that made sense when our steeds weren't in their stalls the next morn. Stolen!

I'm a sharp tack. A bright bulb. I am! And I have a crazy-awesome memory. I'll remember a face forever. I can still recite the Manitoba phone numbers of childhood friends I haven't seen since the 80s. I will regurgitate with perfect accuracy the he-said-she-said of our marital disputes (of course to prove that I am right, as usual). It's just so out of character! Dumb. If huge amounts of booze were a factor, it would make sense, but we had, at best, a mild day-drunk at the Jays game that had a good 9 hours to mellow before our trek home. If I could use that as an excuse, I'd feel better.

I would have lied my face off about this. But you'll most likely see me whooshing around the city on my little blue flame and I'd have to sheepishly explain myself in person. Which would be worse.

After putting on colourful and excessively dramatic pouting and self-pity performances all week, you are no doubt having a pretty good laugh right now. You're welcome.

p.s. While I'm relieved that I don't need to shell out unplanned dough (or grovel pathetically for early birthday money from my parents), I was really starting to buy into my silver lining. Gotta say, I was kiiiiiinda looking forward to pretty new wheels...

(Oh, I am a treasure.)