You guys, yesterday I decided to hit up an early yoga class.
I woke up before 5:30, packed up my bag, and headed out the door to catch the Addison bus.
Except halfway to the Addison bus, I realized that my class was at the other yoga studio location.
Which is not off of Addison.
I about-faced it, tracked the bus, and wondered if I could huff it all the way to Irving Park with a work bag, backpack, and yoga mat strapped to my person in less than five minutes.
Ugh, I thought, and picked up my pace, flailing the aforementioned items all over the place.
It also crossed my mind that I hadn’t actually signed up for this class (I generally sign up every week and skip it, which has become an embarrassment), so likely by the time I missed the bus and ran/walked down to the studio, the door would be locked and I’d not be doing any vinyasas that morning.
As I was deep in thought about how badly my trek was going, I heard a voice behind me in the street (let me also mention that I was actually walking in the street, not on the sidewalk. I’m not sure why that was).
Hey, want a ride? the voice said.
I inwardly groaned. I obviously looked like the kind of early morning streetwalker who accepted rides from strangers.
This was obviously not what I was going for.
I maybe should have been walking on the sidewalk.
I turned around to confront weird, creepy car man, and came face to face with BS, dad of my favorite teens and godson, and also, my now-neighbor.
I gratefully crawled (read: threw in my bags and tripped into the car) into his passenger seat, explained my strange behavior, and made it to yoga on time.
Here’s to great neighbors, chickadees.