As I'm climbing in, earrings and all, I suddenly get the urge to ask him a question.
"Hey, uh...this is safe, right?" I asked.
"Show me where the brake is," he ordered.
I pointed to the left pedal.
"Okay, good job. Show me where the gas is," he directed again.
I pointed to the right pedal. Yes, I'm a pro.
"You're good to go! In case you need to stop really fast just press this and this..and-"
-Wait, he didn't answer my question. Am I supposed to be paying attention to what he's saying right now? I think I better say a quick prayer.
Let's be clear here, I drove like a Grandma. Do you see my hands plastered on that wheel? 10 and 2. Do you see my professional go kart shoes? And those jeans, perfect riding attire I'll say. Except, I thought Grandma's drove smooth riding Buicks?
This was not the case. My whole body was moving like a shake weight. Yes, it was awkward. No, I did not get massive biceps from it.
Mr. B decided to show off after I was done. See that dirt behind him? You better believe I was shouting at him as he circled around me.
"Be careful!"
"You're ruining your Mom's yard!"
"I need some Hot Tamales!"
Alright, maybe not that last one. But I do love those little spicy cinnamon bites.
It was definitely a good time, and someday maybe I'll be able to drive faster than a turtle.
Oh! Whoops! How'd a picture of my ring get in this post?
3 comments:
Cute post - even with the "grandma" comment.
At least he fixed the brakes. Last time I rode it, you stopped by grabbing the rear wheel.
awesome blog, do you have twitter or facebook? i will bookmark this page thanks.
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