As I often do on the 3rd Thursday of each month, I was riding my unicycle to the meeting location of my local tea club,
the most auspicious oak tree situated roundabout a bayou near my home. On this particular afternoon the weather was as
accommodating as could be expected; the sort of which one might find himself doing anything or nothing, and discovering in it
the gentle pleasure of vibrancy or inaction all the same.

The bayou is an estuary that dribbles mostly into a larger body farther away and in a place that I rarely have the
opportunity to frequent, though it would not displease me to do so if the chance presented itself arbitrarily. With my
lilly white porcelain teacup in one hand and my other free to flourish and wave about as I rolled along the path greeting
the occasional fellow or madame with a tip of my feathered cap, I very casually made my way once again to what I for saw
to be another very uneventful and equally satisfying gathering of what I consider to be my most trusted companions, with
which I exchange banal tales of ordinary happenings and the rather mild and innervating peeks into the rituals of life to
which I have become comfortably accustom and habituated.

Roughly half of my merry ride met with my expectations and for that half of my journey I am thankful. The second half,
however, was not to bear out my prescience but indeed was to be a full reversal of my progress thus far on that particular
excursion. I will relate this most adverse eventuality in the best way that I can in make an accounting, considering the
ill manner in which the events took place.

As I stated, I was nearly halfway to my expected destination when I could not avoid the gaze and evident consternation
visible on the visage of what appeared to be a rather unrefined gentleman standing before me on the path and only moments
away from meeting me face to face if I were not to cease my progress and come to a halt, as the path at this point was
narrow and difficult to navigate on a single wheeled carriage. The canopy above happened to be somewhat more dense at
this point and shielded from view the roaring blaze of sunshine. The foliage in my periphery was thicker more so and I
briefly wondered why this stranger would choose this gloomy and concealed place to pass time. I would learn through my
encounter with him that his demeanor matched the environs and that my interlude with him would not be favorable.

I stopped my approach in order to avoid a disagreeable impact with this man. He was dressed shabbily in worn and
sodden rags that I would later find smelled of filth and overuse. His beard was black, uncut and snarled. With a tip of
my hat I saluted him and offered a cordiality that I regularly dispense to strangers, "Good tidings to you my fellow
countryman! And what happy fortune it is that we should meet one another here on such a wondrous and placid afternoon!"

I gathered very quickly from his reply that he found my velvet short knickers, frilly white silk blouse, and striped
cotton stockings to be less than pleasing to his taste. I assured him that I was attired quite appropriately and that I
was comforted by the state of ease that my clothing afforded me, as it was freshly cleaned and tailored perfectly to my
corpulent form.

"Would you like to join me and my very humble group of friends for an afternoon of tea and frivolity? If we depart at
once we will surely arrive there shortly!" I offered.

After that, I felt the sudden tug of the earth pulling me ground wards as my unicycle, having been kicked aside, was
tumbling away to my left and my rump then came crashing down to the dirt below me, to my astonishment.

"A tea party, eh?" he barked.

Dazed and confounded I lurched upward to confront this antagonism and to determine the cause of this unwelcome hostility.
The stranger then stomped immediately on my hand bearing my teacup and shattered it, leaving porcelain shards buried in my
skin. Still shocked, and now bleeding, I next discovered that with unexpected haste and agility, his other foot had removed
my feathered cap and had left a painful mark on my scalp.

"You're quite the dandy aren't you? Do you call that feather macaroni as well?" he asked.

"What sort of a gentleman are you?" I humbly replied, fighting back the tears that were shortly to come.

As I asked this question he reached down for my unicycle and gripped it tightly. I dragged myself backward on the soil as he
raised the device high above his head. With great force and deliberate precision he struck me in the face with the tire
of the unicycle several times, during which I can recall muttering statements such as, "You're no gentleman at all!", "I
don't think I like you very much!", "Ruffian!", "Rogue!", "No, I don't think I like you one bit!".

With each utterance came another blow, along with a string of curses and insufferable maledictions from him that I care
not to repeat in respectable company. Being just enough able to retreat with a bloodied hand and a face that bore most
of the brunt of the assault and the river of tears that gushed forth, I escaped from that encounter and did without tea on
that day.