Stop staring.

You sit there, pretending to ignore me, but I can hear what you’re thinking. “Oooh, looka me– I’m too special to ride. Ooohh, apparently I’m just meant to catch dust– wouldn’t want to get me dirty out there on the actual ROAD.”

You act all snotty and disengaged, but I know what’s in your heart. You’re calling me out, sister. With every pass I make, to the bathroom, back to the kitchen (just you nevermind what I’m eating!)– anytime I’m in the same room with you even for a SECOND you practically scream, “WHEN FOR THE LOVE OF GAWD WILL YOU TAKE ME OUT?!”

The sad answer is, I don’t know, Blue. I do not know. Maybe tomorrow. Probably Sunday. But whenever it is, just know this: When we finally hit that long stretch of highway, I will be sorry, baby; sorry beyond belief that it took so freakin’ long to get my ass back out there. I’ll be sorry for you. Sorry for me. Oh, GAWD, will I be sorry for me. Doesn’t matter. Apologies mean nothing; you’ll still punish me anyway.

NOTE TO SELF: Regardless of how busy you SAY you are, what counts is that you find the time to get your ass in the seat and the bike on the road. Cuz now that ass is going to be the proverbial grass.