In which we observe the unavoidable human tendency to rewrite the past, especially in one's own favor, and are regaled with an appropriate flashback.


Diana was distracted. As she rode home through the rain, she had difficulty concentrating on traffic. The discussion of triangles had disturbed the muck beneath the relatively clear surface of her emotional stability and muddied her otherwise transparent state of mind.

A driver turned out of a side street right in front of her, and she braked, swerved and sent a finger flying after him, accompanied by a few loud, graphic comments about what he could do with himself and how. Diana may have had the reputation of a klutz, but not on her bicycle. And to judge by the precision of her response, she couldn't have been quite as distracted as she imagined.

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