If I was smart, I would gorilla-tape my pie hole shut until the urge passes. Unfortunately, I have never let 'smart' be my guiding principle.
So here it is: Patty has gotten kinda fa . . .
Oh holy hell, I can't believe I almost said that!
What I meant to say is this: Her new bike makes her butt look kinda skinn . . .
O. M. G. I am 5-3/4 of the way into my 6 foot grave!
What I really meant to say is that her BMI has recently gone above average. And by BMI I'm talking about "bike mass index". (Seriously, who doesn't know this?!?)
Shit, I'm toast. It's been nice knowing you.
Since there's a tiny window of time between now and when I will actually be smitten, please allow me to post up a pic of Patty's new fatbike:
When you buy a bike at the Bike Swap, the first place you get to ride it is in the massive parking lot at the fairgounds. Word.
|She does seem not exactly unhappy, in this moment. Which I will gladly take, at this moment.|
In other timely, imperative news, my flirtation with becoming a hobby home-machinist finally and mercifully ended this weekend. After a couple-or-three years of being invested in a multi-hundred-pound piece of equipment and the deliberations of where to put it and how to move it and how to use it and and how to generally deal with and repair it, I'm glad to be non-deliberating. The lathe has a righteous new owner/home, and I can't remember feeling so satisfied and unburdened.
To be clear, it would be super awesome to have the capability to go out to my shop and turn down some small bits for whatever, but I botched the execution of placing the right piece of equipment in my shop and learning how to use it at the right time, and that ship has pretty much sailed, for the time being. I have a ton of fish to fry and that's not one of them at this point. Godspeed, little lathe.