While making a rare purchase today of a bottle of Dalwhinnie, my favorite single malt and a bottle of wine for the boss, I noticed that the neighborhood is being overridden by bikers. Spandex clad, matching helmeted, lance-like bikers.
I winced in horror as I hallucinated about my hemorrhaging, hemorrhoid, being hammered against the saddle. Had a bike once, when I was a kid, but spandex and hemorrhoids don’t mix. A clash of ages, I guess.
At 62 I have now lived longer than any of my male ancestors and as my feisty father used to say, if you can’t beat them at least give them the finger.