I’ve been talking about wheels non-stop lately. I don’t know what it is; they keep coming up in conversation. This doesn’t totally surprise me, though, since when I was a kid, certain wheel-shaped things would send me into hysterics. I realize this makes no sense at all, but it’s cool. [FYI in my old age, this has shifted to hub caps. Stay tuned.]
On Sunday, I was telling Rob about “The Big Wheel” character in “Clowns! The Musical”. I was in this show in 5th grade and had 2 lines as The Big Wheel (some mutant God/Sun/Wise Man) telling the clowns what was what—including Tricky Dicky, my favorite.
Later that day, we saw a bunk hubcap on a minivan that looked like it was spiraling out of control. I mean…my reaction. It can’t be described in words.
Then today, I found a crumpled old love note from an ex preserved between a stack of magazines. Rob, who naturally hates this guy, plucked it from my fingers and glanced it over.
“What a turd…” he said, scanning the pencil drawing of a stick figure Me inside a train, with a stick figure Conductor (labeled ‘conductor’ and with a hat, labeled ‘conductor’s hat’). I fluttered my hands about. “Give it back, I want to see!”
“Oh, nice. It’s…what’s this, a train? With about a thousand f**king wheels drawn on it?” We counted; there were 27. That’s some artistic dedication.
My two wheels, seen above, have been causing a bit of controversy lately. Namely, hairy eyeballs of hate in our building lobby:
Oldie #1: “You don’t even have anywhere to put that do you.”
Me: “Yes, I do…,” getting into the elevator with my bike.
Oldie #2: “She doesn’t have a key fob.”
I looked at the key fob in my hand and shook my head.
I’m hoping with great fervency that the next wheel I come into contact with is not that horrid, hateful ab roller wheel at the gym. I might as well just call that exercise “The Floor Kiss Face Plant” because that definitely sums up my range of motion.
p.s. Yes, these clogs were basically impossible to ride in. So was the skirt. Lesson learned.