Friday, January 01, 2016

Attention passengers

For Xmas it was no pressies for adults except, of course, adults gave pressies anyway. Mostly it was couple to couple. But for just me I got a mock-aged licence plate saying "NO ENTRY". It was to hang on the outside of the shed door to announce I am riding and please don't come in—I feel incredibly vulnerable when riding and the magnets that hold the door closed when the door is opened can trigger a horrid series of metallic clicks as the magnets either detach or stay attached to the door frame.

I was about to board the bike, the sign out, when there was a knock on the door. I opened it with a magnetic clackle. It was theboy with a bulging set of shorts.

"Check out my big penis," he said happily, pointing at his crotch area stuffed with a stuffed toy.

Okay, that bit was good enough for a about-to-ridus-interruptus. I doubt though I'd have found it as funny had I been 20 minutes into the ride when slicked with sweat, heart pumping and bare-chested with my glistening hairy gut spilling over the waistband of my sweat-soaked PJ pants. 

Now, we ride.

UPDATE: It's 2016. I just picked up the NO ENTRY sign from where it fell in front of the shed door. I used a black shoelace, the lace knotted through the holes either side of the sign, to enable it to hang on the shed door. On the day I got the sign I wanted to wear it around my neck like Flava Flav. I went looking for string in my parents' study and found a ziploc bag filled with neatly coiled shoelaces on a bookshelf. It was my mother's—she probably put laces from dead shoes in that bag for years. 

This Christmas was the first we had without her. While she had been in care for dementia for about three years each Christmas she would be picked up by Maxi Taxi and taken back home for Christmas day but then returned to her old aged home that night. 

Her presence, even though diminished in the later years, was missed. Though I confess I felt happy that she was gone because that was what she wanted if her mind went ahead of her body.

It was a nice moment, finding that bag of carefully hoarded shoelaces that I could then immediately tap to turn my NO ENTRY sign from potential wear to actual.

Thanks, themum, for your effective pack-ratting. 

No comments:

Post a Comment

No comments needed, really.

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.