Went to the gym, bright and early. More of a crowd than yesterday, but not so much that I had to wait on machines. Which was all right, until I noticed the time. So I finished up in a hurry, went home and showered, and by that time there was no way I was getting to class on time without a taxi.

Which is also all right. Why trudge up a big hill when you've just been on the elliptical trainer, right? So I rang Radio Taxi (the only radio taxi in these parts), and there was no answer. I called again. And the backup line. And I called the backup line again. Still no answer. By this time I'm on the street, and there were no taxis anywhere. So I kept my eyes open while I headed toward the hospital-- usually, you can snag one there after they've dropped someone off.

Still no taxis.

By this time, I was wondering if there was a strike of some sort going on. So I made some calls, and it didn't seem to be the case. By this time I was also very late for class. I walked down to the taxi rank, and I got my answer: market day. There was a long line of people with large bags of veggies and other market bargains waiting at the rank, and every so often a lone taxi would pull up and take one of them away.

Then, I figured that if I made the next train I could get there only 20 minutes late, and still have half an hour left. It takes about four or five minutes to get there from the taxi stand, so I started hauling ass.

The next train left in four minutes.

I wasn't on it.

But only just, of course. So I watched the train depart, waving goodbye. Well, I suppose you could call it waving, although my finger was fairly stationary.

Never mind, thought I. They'll still be reviewing, and the teacher figuring out where all the new students are portuguese-wise, and she already knows where I am. I'll just review on my own.

And I had to be at the station anyway, to pick up the boots that I'd dropped off to be resoled and reheeled. Also, I had brought in my new favorite purse to be fixed. The boots were done, but they couldn't fix my bag because they don't do sewing.

The cobbler told me, however, that the place next door did. So I spent ten minutes mooching around the station, waiting for them to open, only to find out that they couldn't fix it either because their sewing machine is too small.

Which is about the time that I started getting annoyed. I LOVE my new bag. Usually, I spend tons of time choosing, checking out the zippers and examining the inside pockets and seeing how it looks in the mirror. And then repeat the process with several more, similar but not quite the same purses, then compare them all, narrowing down the choices until you are left with what you hope is the Perfect Purse. As you do.

But this time, we were in Texas and I had dashed into the store to buy an extra duffle bag. The purses were conveniently located on the path between the luggage section and the check out, and mine was right on the aisle. I had just noticed the day before that the lining in my purse was starting to rip, and Elvis was waiting out in the car, all crabby with travel anxiety. Not only that, but it was the type of shoulder bag I had been looking for for a while and it was on sale. Half price! So I gave it the once over, checking out the zips just in case, grabbed it and ran for the cashiers.

And I've been loving it-- it is perfect. I tend to travel heavy, so the stitching is starting to go. It is definitely fixable-- that's one of the things that attracted it to me in the first place.

After I got back home (the bus fares went up, by the way, and I no longer had exact change, which figures) and pouted for a while, I had a good look at it. Yep-- it can definitely be fixed. And it shouldn't be that difficult, really. In fact, I'm considering a trip to the Jumbo for some fishing line and a big- ass needle.

Perhaps my plumbing successes have gone to my head and I'm over- confident, but I'm going to try and fix it myself.

After all, what's the worst that could happen?