Monday’s excitement was riding down to the Urbane Cyclist on John Street, a wonderful “worker cooperative” bike store. At the urging of my children, I gave in and went to buy a bike helmet. I know they’re life-saving when your head meets concrete. The trouble is, they’re hideous and make you look like a dork, and they just don’t fit the image of happy sophisticate peddling through the city in her high heels, hair blowing in the breeze. Parisian women on bicycles do not wear helmets.

Not to mention helmet head. Enough said.

Solution: a Bern helmet, which doesn’t have all those overkill stream-lined holes and racing stripes, and doesn’t make you like a spaceman. It’s just a plain round thing. Mine is orange with a little cloth visor, and it’s size extra-large. A bit big. Which means I can wear it in winter with something underneath, but also, it doesn’t crush the hair completely.

So if you see a very old brown bike being pedalled by a happy sophisticate in high heels with an orange dome on her head, try not to shriek with laughter. Because one day, her brains, and her children, may be very thankful she’s wearing that thing.

Speaking of crushed hair, I read an article recently about not washing your hair nearly as often as recommended. There’s a train of thought that shampoo is full of harsh chemicals and does your hair more harm than good. They say the hair maintains itself. In any case, I used to wash mine only once a week, and now I’ve started to try … less than that. I haven’t washed my hair in two weeks, and I have to tell you, it looks better than usual. Luckily, I don’t have greasy hair – but it’s just as shiny and stays in place better. Who knew?

Perhaps this is too much information. I do think we’re cleanoholic and germphobic in our society. I am a clean person, just not, perhaps, as squeaky clean as you.

Stay tuned.