Street Where the Riches of Ages are Sold

If you haven't yet noticed, I watch way too many Disney movies.
Today's beautiful Sunday weather found four of us on the bus to Portabello Market. We got off of the bus a stop too early but made our way happily through the streets of Notting Hill. We were just glad that is wasn't raining. We spotted the market after a stroll and darted across an empty street to make our way to our destination.
It was that precise moment that a biker whizzed past me as I was crossing and yelled,
"The crossing's over there, Fat Girl."
Now I'd like to say that I had a witty retort ready, such as, "The asshole club's that way, Dick Face" or "Nice spandex, Ninny" or even just "Up yours, Jerk." Alas there was little I could do but look down the road in sheer astonishment as he disappeared around a bend. I'd also like to say that it was easy for me to shrug it off and say, "screw him," but, honestly, it hurt my feelings a lot.
It's often rare that I'm astounded by the sheer rudeness of some people, but this instance was ludicrous. I wasn't in his way. It's not like he nearly ran into me as he flew down the hill: I was well across the street by the time he went past. There was also not a single car on the road coming from either direction, and it's not like I was the ONLY person who had just crossed that exact road at that exact intersection.
Either way, it's hard to have a good day when someone so blatantly insults you without any provocation. We went down the road and into the shopping district and as I perused the stands I started to feel a little better. I even bought a gorgeous leather-bound plain-sheet journal. We ate a pretty decent lunch at a Lebanese food joint and made our way back to Weeks Hall on the top deck of a double-decker bus.
Some evil part of me will be hoping for a while that a certain spandex-clad bicyclist gets hit by one of those awesome red buses.

JD