Biking in Suburbia
My husband and I were driving into Fairfield center last weekend and I saw one of those weekend biker guys. Not motorcycle biker. Bicycle bikers. You know those forty something guys with the Italian stretchy spandex suits, helmets, rearview mirrors, emergency water packs, spiky shoes, etc. Hey I saw Breaking Away. I know you can ride a bike without all that shit.
I asked my husband, the resident expert on man stuff, "What's up with all that?" He said, "Food and accessories. Men are all about food and accessories." This coming from that one who bought an iPhone when they were $600.
My neighbor and friend Andy is one of these bikers. He suits up and rides out to upstate New York or wherever he goes. One day I was driving by his house and his wife waved at me. She was wondering if I would mind picking him up because his bike had a flat tire. She was pregnant with their second and couldn't find the keys to the truck where the car seat was for her little girl.
I drove up the road looking for her husband and I finally found him. He'd made a lot more progress than I'd anticipated so I almost passed him. The look on his face was one of horror. I threatened to take a picture of him with my phone and distribute it to our other neighbors. See Andy is a nice Midwestern guy and my guess is the fellas in Omaha would frown on all that spandex - yellow I believe it was. Maybe orange. It was bright. Andy lived in the City for several years where you can get away with that sort of thing.
He told me he was fine and he could walk the rest of the way. About a mile and a half would be my guess with bike with flat tire. I told him to get in and I wouldn't say a word. Sorry Andy, I lied.
If not for Andy, I would write these men off. They're going through some kind of crisis. They always wanted to be a fireman and somehow wound up an accountant or advertising exec or insurance agent. So they put on a uniform of another sort and head out into the woods of Connecticut in packs with their other fireman-wannabes.
But Andy is a regular guy. A nice, pretty normal guy. And his wife is a hoot so I always think more of a man strong enough to marry a funny woman.
If men and women are all about food and accessories, maybe we're not so different after all...
Who am I kidding? Let's review this little story. A pregnant woman with a two-year old is searching frantically for the keys to her husband's gigantic, loud pick'em up truck so she can go rescue him and his ridiculously expensive bike rendered useless by a flat tire.
I think this says it all. Men have the TIME to be obsessed with said things. They have the time to squeeze into their stretchy suits, Windex that little rearview mirror on their helmets, put distilled water in a fanny pack along with a quinine tablet and mini fire starter, strap their spiky shoes to a bike and head to Canada for four hours on a Sunday.
Given four hours of free time, I think that's about the last thing a woman would do.
I asked my husband, the resident expert on man stuff, "What's up with all that?" He said, "Food and accessories. Men are all about food and accessories." This coming from that one who bought an iPhone when they were $600.
My neighbor and friend Andy is one of these bikers. He suits up and rides out to upstate New York or wherever he goes. One day I was driving by his house and his wife waved at me. She was wondering if I would mind picking him up because his bike had a flat tire. She was pregnant with their second and couldn't find the keys to the truck where the car seat was for her little girl.
I drove up the road looking for her husband and I finally found him. He'd made a lot more progress than I'd anticipated so I almost passed him. The look on his face was one of horror. I threatened to take a picture of him with my phone and distribute it to our other neighbors. See Andy is a nice Midwestern guy and my guess is the fellas in Omaha would frown on all that spandex - yellow I believe it was. Maybe orange. It was bright. Andy lived in the City for several years where you can get away with that sort of thing.
He told me he was fine and he could walk the rest of the way. About a mile and a half would be my guess with bike with flat tire. I told him to get in and I wouldn't say a word. Sorry Andy, I lied.
If not for Andy, I would write these men off. They're going through some kind of crisis. They always wanted to be a fireman and somehow wound up an accountant or advertising exec or insurance agent. So they put on a uniform of another sort and head out into the woods of Connecticut in packs with their other fireman-wannabes.
But Andy is a regular guy. A nice, pretty normal guy. And his wife is a hoot so I always think more of a man strong enough to marry a funny woman.
If men and women are all about food and accessories, maybe we're not so different after all...
Who am I kidding? Let's review this little story. A pregnant woman with a two-year old is searching frantically for the keys to her husband's gigantic, loud pick'em up truck so she can go rescue him and his ridiculously expensive bike rendered useless by a flat tire.
I think this says it all. Men have the TIME to be obsessed with said things. They have the time to squeeze into their stretchy suits, Windex that little rearview mirror on their helmets, put distilled water in a fanny pack along with a quinine tablet and mini fire starter, strap their spiky shoes to a bike and head to Canada for four hours on a Sunday.
Given four hours of free time, I think that's about the last thing a woman would do.
Labels: motherhood
posted by Beck at
5:13 AM
3 Comments
