Trusting My Intuitions

I’m at the bookstore on Sunday with Mimi and I see this book I’m intrigued by but I think that’s it’s sort of silly to spend fourteen bucks on it when I can get it at the library; on whim, though, I do anyway, although I have some buyer’s remorse when it comes time to pay up, and end up thinking I should have trusted my intuition and not spent the money.

So then, I drop Mimi off at the birthday party she’s going to and when I’m putting her helmet and the book in the bike bag, I think I really should put the book under her helmet not inside it but for some reason—laziness, probably—I just leave the slim volume on top and ride away, even though my better judgment tells me this is a mistake.

When I arrive at the barber shop to get my hair cut, anticipating a long wait, I reach into the bike bag for my book, but it’s not there. As I feared (although not enough to take better precautions) it has bounced out of the bag somewhere between GameWorks, where I left the kid, and Rudy’s downtown shop where I now stand, a distance of some 10 blocks or so.

Briefly, I consider turning around and looking for it, but decide it’s probably fruitless so I go inside and get my ears lowered as Mom used to say. Heading out, having to snug my helmet straps a bit, I decide to retrace my pedals on the off chance no one’s picked up my fallen book.

And they haven’t: it lies, somewhat worse for wear, in the middle of the westbound lane on First Avenue, right about where I cut around that stopped car on my way to the barber.

I pick it up, dust it off, and put in back in the bike bag, this time safely underneath Mimi’s helmet.

Good thing it wasn’t a library book.