Saturday, October 6, 2012

Into everylife a little dumbass must fall

So yes, it's true. I locked myself out of my bicyle the other day.

Before you cast your lot in with the rest of the world who believes I'm a dumbass, be warned: this could easily happen to you, too.

Here's what happened:

I went on a business trip and wanted to divest my keychain of unnecessary keys and charms and crap. this included my Bunco dice, my Weight Watchers medals, reward cards and my bike lock key.

I travel lean, man. One carry on bag for three days/two nights.

So I get home and reassemble what I think is all my stuff on my keychain and think nothing more about it except to note that I have to much crap on my key.

So Thursday, I get home and have extra time because Jeff has Alison at basketball practice. He's picking up ribs from my former friend Tom Vielee so I decide to skip the gym and bike up to the Nora Kroger to get green beans.

It was a beautiful day and even though a cold front threatened, I planned to ride hard and be back home well before dark. So I wore shorts and a small tee. I get to the store, get my produce and depart with plenty of time to add a bit to my route home.

That's when I discovered my bike key wasn't on my keychain.

The only think dropping faster than the temperature was my stomach.

The Captain was not going to be happy with me, I thought. On the bright side, I was stranded at Kroger. So I went to the salad bar, got a magazine and settled in to await my rescue.

When my prince got my text and voice mail, I'm sure the only thing keeping him from spouting his standard, "goddammit Cheryl!" was the presence of the basketball girls.

My new iPhone rang clear with the tone of his disdain, however. Both with the first return call and the second which came as he was tearing apart the kitchen drawer where the missing key was supposed to be living.

Meanwhile, the temperature keeps dropping. I tried to rub my calves together to stay warm but was afraid my stubble would spark and catch me on fire after a while. Sure I'd be warmer, but I didn't really want the repercussions of a full-out fire. So I drifted in and out of the store like I was casing the joint.

So it's almost 8 when he arrives with two keys that were not the keys we need. We go get the ribs. Jeff borrows wire cutters and a battery-powered
saw from my former friend Tom who says, "So are you gonna make her bike home in the dark."

Pretty easy to see how his friend status changed... He did not, however, laugh at me to my face. Maybe I'll reconsider. I did keep Scott Cunningham after all.

We tell Alison, who has yet to have dinner, our plan.

"Uh, Mom. Don't you think people will think we're stealing your bike?" asked Alison.

I assured her that theives would be way quicker than we would be and that we didn't really look like thieves working out in the open with our family Subaru parked out front of the store and with our daughter along.

You could see the fear in her eyes. I'm sure she was wondering if she'd like the group home FSSA was going to send her to after we got carted off to jail.

My bike lock was suprisingly hard to break. I'd highly recommend it if you ever want to keep your bike secure from theives. And yourself should you ever lose your key.

That bike lock sneered at the wire cutters and initially sniffed at the saw. I held the cord apart while Jeff started the saw. Had anyone seen me as I stood, I'm sure I looked like something out of a cartoon, hair on end and skeleton showing.

At one point when there was a fair amount of traffic of shoppers going in and out of the store, Alison leans out of the car and shouts, "Hey DAD. Are you doing ok getting MOM's bike free?"

Subtle she's not.

It took a lot longer than we'd expected to saw through the lock. The vibration has at least warmed me up a bit.

On the way home, Alison confesses that she's been playing with my phone and saw a post that discussed my plight and my state of dumb-assedness.

"Mom. Some guy on FaceBook called you a, can I say it? Dumb A.S.S." she said.

I laughed. "Yes you can say it. Sometimes in this life, Alison, you're just going to be a dumbass. I've done it. Your dad's done it. You'll be a dumbass everyone once in a while, too."

She gasped, then giggled, and then said "dumbass" every other sentence.

The captain, my prince, denied ever being a dumbass, which of course led to Alison and me tossing off a litany of evidence to the contrary.

It was quite the night. We finally had dinner finished well after Alison's bedtime.

I'm grounded from riding my bike until I get a combination lock.

We have yet to eat the green beans.

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