At Least They're Committed

“I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride my bike. I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride it where I like . . . ”

I’ve had that Queen song stuck in my head — in a good way — since Mother’s Day when my family presented me with a way excellent classic bike. It’s so pretty and fun and it doesn’t have gears so it doesn’t confuse me! The weather has been nasty, so I haven’t gotten to ride it much. But I’m going tonight.

“Fat bottom girls will be riding today, so look out for those beauties, oh yeah.” Yup. That’s me.

I’ll ride around in circles for an hour if I must to put some muscle behind my frustration and indignation at a gross injustice done to one of my children. Grrrr, I tell ya, if I could, I would just . . .  (snarl) and I’d say . . . (growl) . . . No, “I want to ride my bicycle I want to ride my bike . . .”

I have a new trash novel to read and the sun is shining so I can drive with the top down if I wanna and I won’t have to think about . . . . eeeeeraaaurgh. How dare this person after all we’ve done for . . . (snort) . . . even if we hadn’t how can anyone, ANYONE say such things! I’d like to storm the castle and . . . . No, “I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride it where I like.”