I'm Short So F*&% Off

I bought myself a bike for Mother's Day. My husband had attempted a shopping trip on my behalf and it gave me diarrhea just imagining what horrors he would purchase without my detailed list. I have in recent history, received Tweety Bird pajama pants, earrings that double as fishing lures and blue suede ankle boots. He's sweet and not a shopper.  Luckily, he came home empty handed and finally inquired about what I would want. Initially, my thoughts were geared toward relaxation and vanity...a spa day, new clothes, diamond earrings or yoga pants. The latter may seem to be a workout request but it is not, since I wear yoga pants daily regardless of how much yoga really happens. Just thinking about yoga pants makes me comfortable. The bike idea blossomed from a conversation with my kids who were making all sorts of plans for summer riding adventures. They wanted to ride to the pool, to the grocery store for snacks and while they are getting to the age of self-reliance, I couldn't shake the feeling that letting them ride solo all summer would make me eligible for "Worst Summer Parent" award. Our bike options were few, a couple thrift store mountain bikes and metal scooters. As I checked out the adult selection, the Bitch Angel on my shoulder was reminding me of all the times I rode a bike that was too big for me.
"Sore pussy for a week if you try that."
"You can't even get on it without a step stool. Really?"
"That Buzz Lightyear training bike is closer to a yes than any adult bike in here. Try that one, short stack"
I needed a bike.

My sister took me shopping for bicycles because she is bike enthusiast. She drives a Subaru, lives in Sugarhouse and has a chicken coop. Enough said. I, on the other hand, buy bikes at big box stores when they go on sale and realize way too late in the game that I will never ride them. The first stop was a classified ad from an old hippie who had built a business on picking up bikes from the dump and turning a hefty profit on each one. He was asking a whopping $150 for a cruiser that looked as if it had been collecting dust since 1972. My sister saw it and immediately had hesitations about it's size.
"That's too big for you." she chided. "I don't think you'll be comfortable riding it."
I had to prove her wrong by taking it for a spin up and down the residential road. It felt pretty well and I didn't want to admit that the handle bars were a stretch for my T-Rex arms. I could make it work. My sister told him we were looking elsewhere.

After a chat with The Bike Man (his sign said it all) who gave us plenty of info but had no bikes on hand, we were off again to a bicycle store that had a cruiser listed for around $200. When we passed by the front, sister saw aforementioned bike and commented on it's cuteness. Should I have been concerned? Probably. We had an employee unlock that little beauty and I took it for a spin. It fit me perfectly. No arm stretches, no crotch bruising, just a comfy little ride with easy breaking and no extra gears. We asked for a basket and I pulled out my credit card. At this point, my sister is researching the bike for me online. She gets a grin on her face and says "This is a girl's bike, but that's good for you because you're small." Yep, I bought a kid's bike.

My first trip around the block elicited a giggle from one neighbor and an uncomfortable stare from another. I'm not sure if it was my over sized basket, daisy detailing or the sight of a grown woman on a itty bitty cruiser that really got them. I imagine it would be the way I feel seeing a grown man get out of a Volkswagen Bug or the humor I find in clown cars that house fifteen humans. It's unusual and demands attention. While my first instinct was to flip them the bird, I instead kept right on pedalling with a smile on my face.I found comfort in the knowledge that while I may look like an idiot, I'm an idiot who is burning calories and getting nominated to "Funnest Summer Mom Of Life".  So suck on that, ladies.