Once upon a time, there was a slapstick comedy.  And once upon a time, the goofy heroine of said slapstick comedy hitched up her skirt, hopped on her bicycle, and began pedaling down the street--at which point her skirt became tangled in her wheel spokes and was violently and hilariously ripped from her person.  Also, she slipped on a banana peel and received a pie in the face. The end.

Does this remind you of some mildly indecent, B-grade comedy?  As you read, did you roll your eyes and think, “Oh pul-ease.  Don’t tell me that Erica is going to make fun of physical comedy and stupid humor.  That’s almost as cliché as the slapstick genre itself!”?  If so, then let me assure you that I agree whole-heartedly.  There are far too many comedians-making-fun-of-comedians out there.  But there are also far too many mindless comedies plastered all over cable television, which means that we shouldn’t have to experience them in real life--right?  In theory. However, the painful facts of the matter are these: 

1) No matter how cliché, I am going to poke fun at slapstick comedy, so poo-poo to you, Mr. Picky McSnoot!  Take a pie in the face.  2)  The particular comedy I described did not occur on a movie set.  3) Our protagonist was played, not by some second-rate actress without a trace of human dignity, but by a self-respecting young citizen who attends school regularly, shops at Wal-Mart  (also regularly), and flosses her teeth (not quite so regularly).  4) Aside from the bit about the banana peel and the pie, everything in the scenario actually happened.  To me.

Are you gasping for air, eyes bulging in surprise?  (“What?  Erica sometimes forgets to floss?”)  Believe me, you are not alone.  I was positively gulping for air, eyes literally popping out of their respective sockets when the actual incident occurred.  As painful as this was and will continue to be, I would like to relate the grisly details of my sordid tale so that you can properly sympathize and possibly send me flowers and chocolates in the mail (I prefer Lindt truffles, thank you).

The incident took place on a Sunday, and being a religious person--although not necessarily when it comes to flossing--I was sporting a delightfully Bohemian ensemble, complete with sequins and flowing skirts.  (This signifies religious fervor because I had forgone my usual T-shirt-and-jeans combo to gussy up for church services.)  I was just returning from my last church meeting, wearing my Wal-Mart-purchased ensemble, when I realized that I was late for a school concert.  (See how religious I am when it comes to church, school, and Wal-Mart?  Doesn’t that make up for the whole flossing issue, Mr. McSnoot?).

Being a conscientious student, I immediately hopped on my bike and set out for the recital.  I stress the word “immediately,” because I wish to clarify that I had no time to change my Wal-Mart-purchased ensemble (which I have now cited approximately two billion times).  The aforementioned Wal-Mart-purchased ensemble (two billion and one!) severely restricted my physical range of motion, so I had to yell my sincerest apologies to the two professional bikers I flattened as I rounded Corner #1.  Still, things were going well for me, if not for the unfortunate bikers, until I reached Corner #2.  Then--whammo!--IT happened.   To this day, I’m still not entirely sure what caused IT to occur.  At one moment, my Wal-Mart-purchased ensemble was properly girding my loins, and at the next, it was girding the treads on the bottom of my bicycle tire.

Now we come to the part in the story where I freeze in horror, followed closely by air gulping and eye popping.  After the initial gulping/popping attack subsided, I glanced frantically up and down the street.  Luckily, no one seemed to be looking in my direction.  I could see someone preparing to step out of his car, though, and I knew I had mere milliseconds to return to common decency.   Being firmly affixed to my bicycle seat by the waistband of my skirt, I had to bend over backwards (I mean this literally!) to rip the offending Wal-Mart-purchased ensemble from my spokes.  I covered myself with what shreds of my skirt and my dignity remained, and scuttled back to the safety of my apartment. 

I never did make that recital.  When I had to explain the situation to my piano teacher the next day, all I could come up with was, “The bike ate my skirt!”  Sound like a lame line out of a dumb comedy?  Yeah, my teacher thought so, too.  So here's the moral of the story:  Do not become a religious Wal-Mart shopper.  Instead, become religious about things like bike safety and flossing. Thank you.