Today I fell off my bike.
I should have known it was going to happen. I was feeling psychic all day, from the "I should put some ibuprofen in my bag" (didn't) in the morning when I left to when I was sailing down 12th Street thinking "I really wish I had my helmet for days when I had to take streets I was unfamiliar with." A couple minutes later, my tires got caught in a cluster eff-you-see-kay of vestigial trolley tracks, and down I went.
In front of a bus.
Which fortunately, was at a stop, but really, the view of a bus from fifteen feet away, on the pavement, is quite a sight to behold. I scrambled up as the twenty people at various points of the sidewalk asked if I was ok, absolutely mortified. It's an Old Dutch! I'm not supposed to fall off my Old Dutch! I was never going to fall off this bike!
Well I did, and thanks be to god, I was unharmed. I landed on my generously naturally padded hip and my reasonably brawny/squishy shoulder/upper arm, and managed not to hit my head. Not a scratch, not a road rash, and not even the beginnings of a bruise. I got up and walked away. Even the bike was ok.
I can't get over how lucky I was.