And over she goes

So, I’ve had a crash on my bicycle. Most unfortunate. I was whizzing past all the stationary rush hour traffic when some plonker in a little white car turned in front of me and cut me off. I had to slam on the anchors to avoid hitting him, and the bicycle flew in an elegant circle and I followed it, head over high heels in my gorgeous stripey work dress. Lucky I was wearing cycling pants underneath. It all happened so fast there was no time for fear, or any cerebration at all, come to that. The first I knew I was sitting up with loads of passers by running to my aid. Even the driver of the white car got out, but he didn’t hang around when he saw that I was “OK”. Of course, in the heat of the adrenalized moment, I just assured everyone I was fine, got up and back on my bike and cycled away. It took me a moment or two to realize my handle bars were all skew-wiff, so I decided to pop into the bike shop on my way home.
When I got there, I went in and explained what had happened to the nice man, and burst into tears when he asked me if I was OK. I suddenly noticed grazes on my hands and knees, and a painful wrist. When he told me there was at least $100 damage to the bike, that made everything worse. He got me a glass of water, and after a few minutes I Ubered home. I’ve been gradually stiffening up since I got back an hour ago. Grazes I can cope with, I only hope I haven’t broken my wrist. Am feeling a bit glum too. Wasn’t it just a month since I fell off my bike last time? Do I have to join the ranks of mindless commuters in their cars to be safe?