Bicycle ride.
I conquered The Hill (Part Four)!
There have been three monumental obstacles in my bicycling adventures, and now I have conquered Part Four. I didn't even mean to, today, but I took a wrong turn, and Chelsea will not succumb to the humiliation of walking her bicycle up a hill.
Flushed with victory, I sped off into the jungle of picket fences and dying lawns. Drooling, sweating, grunting, I turned the corner and plundered ahead.
Isn't that great how Pete (the mystical man who rules the events of my life) chose to reunite me with post-puberty-down-the-street-boy-who-suddenly-has-become-a-very attractive-man-man at that very moment? There I was, hair plastered to my face, shirt soaked in sweat, gasping for air, wearing purple stretch pants.
I know, okay. Why do I even own purple sweat pants? And if so, why did I wear them? Pete, you cruel hearted plumber.
I laid on the grass at the park. It had just been cut, it smelled vibrant and alive. I laid there and stretched, inhaling the pulpy goodness. I must have looked like a very "special" girl, writhing, sweat soaked in the grass, wearing my tight purple pants. Very possibly a call girl/escaped mental patient. I probably scarred some of the children there for life. I went on the swings, hoping to enjoy the unadulterated bliss of weightlessly soaring through the air.
The swing set groaned. It protested. I snarled. I got to a moderate height and the set trembled and moaned. It’s really sad, once you reach a certain point, you just can’t play in the playground without having to worry about the whole thing coming crashing down upon you and the coppers having to pry your dead body out of a heap of monkey bars and bright yellow plastic tic-tac-toes.
It is now naked laundry time.
Post.Script. I apologize.
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