Sometimes I wonder whether my life would have been free of irony had I not undergone the changes I've experienced. But then I realize that if you've lived any kind of a life at all, a certain amount of irony comes simply with aging.
However, today I felt that I experienced a particular aspect of karma, or whatever you want to call it, that would not have been possible in any life but mine. Or so it seemed.
To wit: Today, before riding into work, I rode (admittedly, only two and a half blocks) to Hannah and Her Sisters. That's where I get my nails done.
If you can't stand to look at the hands of a middle aged woman, then skip over the following photo. In fact, you might want to skip over the rest of this post.
So I got to ride to work in freshly-painted nails. And Hannah herself recorded the occasion:
The irony in this is that I stopped reading Bicycling! magazine thirty years ago because a model on the cover of one issue had much longer and more heavily lacquered nails and a ring with a much larger stone than I had ever seen on any cyclist. I decided that nobody could possibly ride with such nails or a ring. And I couched my indignation--over the fact that the model on that cover wasn't me--in some pseudo-feminist rant about how the magazine was reinforcing gender stereotypes.
The fact is that I was ready to stop reading Bicycling! because most of its content was, by that time, "old hat" for me. Plus, I saw that it was turning into more of a lifestyle magazine than a publication about cycling. Most likely, it had already reached that point and I had just noticed.
I looked for the cover of that issue of Bicycling!, to no avail. Now I wonder whether anyone was as appalled as I pretended to be over a woman cycling with long painted nails.
However, today I felt that I experienced a particular aspect of karma, or whatever you want to call it, that would not have been possible in any life but mine. Or so it seemed.
To wit: Today, before riding into work, I rode (admittedly, only two and a half blocks) to Hannah and Her Sisters. That's where I get my nails done.
If you can't stand to look at the hands of a middle aged woman, then skip over the following photo. In fact, you might want to skip over the rest of this post.
So I got to ride to work in freshly-painted nails. And Hannah herself recorded the occasion:
The irony in this is that I stopped reading Bicycling! magazine thirty years ago because a model on the cover of one issue had much longer and more heavily lacquered nails and a ring with a much larger stone than I had ever seen on any cyclist. I decided that nobody could possibly ride with such nails or a ring. And I couched my indignation--over the fact that the model on that cover wasn't me--in some pseudo-feminist rant about how the magazine was reinforcing gender stereotypes.
The fact is that I was ready to stop reading Bicycling! because most of its content was, by that time, "old hat" for me. Plus, I saw that it was turning into more of a lifestyle magazine than a publication about cycling. Most likely, it had already reached that point and I had just noticed.
I looked for the cover of that issue of Bicycling!, to no avail. Now I wonder whether anyone was as appalled as I pretended to be over a woman cycling with long painted nails.
