Me: It’s getting hot in here…
Jon Johnson: So put on all your clothes.
I’m about to become whiner of the year and someone may have to “yotch”-slap me, but the heat of this day is detestable. And my strawberry-kiwi juice drink isn’t doing me any kind of justice.
Leah and I have been biking to school every morning. She said something yesterday afternoon I hope to turn into an actual comic strip.
“I’ve decided,” she shouted from behind me as we coasted toward home, “to proclaim ourselves ‘The Speed Princess’ and ‘Maneuver Queen.'”
“Why’s that?” I yelled back.
“Because you are wicked good at maneuvers and turning corners and such, while when it comes to straight-aways, I school you.”
She really does, too. The girl smokes on those flat paved trail ways, while I can be found zig-zagging back-and-forth and leaning heavily to the right or left.
“I’m too scared of falling,” Leah said in response to my sharp turns.
Personally, I like the idea of scraped elbows. Rasberries and scabs up to whazoo! If and when I finally do lean too far and eat pavement, I will proudly exclaim, “Battle wounds! I love it!”
I’ve found myself cutting up a T-shirt every morning before leaving for school. I tend to run out of decent tank-tops and resolve to convert one of my many 99 cent thrift store T’s into an 80s style work-out tank. I am proud to say that no, I do not have a farmer’s tan. Rather, I have a biker’s tan. And it makes all the difference.