Ow. My aching asshole.
Which, as opening lines go, occupies the same dubious realm as clickbait. However, my discomfort does not stem from any Leviticus censored activity, but rather from something more mundane. And self inflicted.
I uncoupled my mountain bike from its wall mount, scrubbed it down (it was still dirty and muddy from the last time I’d used it) [BAD MOUNTAIN BIKE OWNER] lubed it up and then took it for a short early morning 10mi* sojourn along the river near my house.
*For some reason my apple watch measures my runs in km, but my bike rides in miles. A problem likely solvable through Google. It doesn’t worry me, I am multi-mensurational. (Which I initially wrote as menstruation…al which is a entirely different form of cycle) Joey takes a moment to laugh at his own joke.
I’m a bit saddle sore. I haven’t ridden in ages. Work, child rearing… insert other vaguely lame excuses here. But having recently decided that I actually hate running, I need some other form of kinetic energy transferal to counter the effect of maturing (into a slab of lard). Its either that, or, I guess, I could eat less. Stuffing food into my mouth-hole however is (kinda) the apotheosis of my entire life… and therefore unlikely to happen.
In any event, I’d forgot how much I enjoyed riding. Bruised sphincter aside I mean. Not sure how you guys do it. ‘You guys’, he’s says motioning with a broad sweeping hand gesture to encompass people of a certain proclivity and tendency. But then again, maybe I don’t know what I’m missing? Downside, is having to clean up post event, since by that time I’m usually quite lethargic. Cleaning the bike I mean. Maybe I need to invest in one of those… power-wash-sprayer-thingies? (I’m sure there is a more technical terms for these)
TMI… but I’m eyeing the infants bum cream with a look that suggests we might need some alone time in the bathroom together.
And now you are most likely disturbed. Mission completed.