A Viscious Cycle

Since the girl has mastered the skill of riding her bicycle without training wheels, the entire family has decided to take up bike riding.

"Oh, bike riding!" I thought. "I will be taken back to the days of my childhood and those warm summer nights when I rode my pink Huffy for hours, only coming home to be fed and hide from the darkness and kidnappers in rusted conversion vans with mini-blinds who prey on fat white girls after daylight. Good times!"

When I was a child, my mother made up horrific stories about kidnappers and boogeymen to scare me into being safe. I'm still terrified of conversion vans with mini blinds. Thanks, Mom.

Anyway, Hubs got one of those corny baby seats for his bicycle, we strapped the boy on, and we all took off riding around the neighborhood, hearts full of love.

It was just like a medication commercial. You know those commercials that depict the happy family all participating in the same activity, smiling, lovingly glancing at one another, laughing, living the American dream, as an announcer runs through a list of side effects, including explosive diarrhea and tooth loss. Yeah, we were like that, except Daddy isn't on Lipitor for his A-Fib.

As my heart was bubbling with joy and my calves burning from steep inclines, my butt was suffering terribly.

I mean, how are you supposed to comfortably balance a hippopotamus on a brick? It ain't happening, folks.

So, I ventured down to the local Hell Mart, and I searched for one of those big, comfortable, padded seats for my big, comfortable, padded derriere.

I found the perfect seat, and I took a picture with my cell phone and sent it to Hubs.

This is the actual seat. 

I decided to call him as I was standing in the bicycle aisle at Hell Mart. The mistake was putting him on speakerphone. 

Me:Did you get the picture of the bicycle seat?
Hubs: Yeah.
Me: Do you think it will help?
Hubs: Yeah.
Me: Okay, it is pretty padded. I think I will get it.
Hubs: What's that big hole in the middle?
Me: I don't know. The package says "ergonomic relief channel provides extra comfort while riding".
Hubs: It looks sexual.
Me: How can a bike seat look sexual, pervert?
Hubs: I don't know. That hole. Something about that hole.
Me: What is wrong with you? It is an ergonomic relief channel.
Hubs: It looks like a relief channel, alright.
Me: Do you realize how disgusting you are? Do you think this anytime you see a hole?
Hubs: Sometimes.
Me: Cheerios? How do you eat a bowl full of holes without thinking like a perv?
Hubs: Very carefully.
Me: I've got to go. I'm getting the seat.
Hubs: Cool.

As I hung up the speakerphone, I notice a precious little octogenarian, sporting the most well-kept blue rinsed tight curls, airy, cotton, homemade floral dress, and a look of horror on her face. Not an "oh, dear, I just burned my apple dumplings" kind of look, but an "OH DEAR! SOME YOUNG MAN WAS ON THE PHONE TALKING ABOUT SEX HOLES IN BICYCLE SEATS!" kind of look.

There is a difference, trust me.

My face a shade of crimson, I threw the seat in my cart, and I rushed away frantically.

I was reminded of that Christmas when Toy Story 3 was all the rage and my daughter was obsessed with the characters. She'd acquired every toy from the movie, but she was on the hunt for the larger versions of the toys.

As we squeezed our way down the crowded aisle at Satan's Workshop (Hell Mart), she shouted out, okay, screamed, "Look, Mama! A big Woody!"

Two lady's blushed and a fat guy in a "F-It, Santa, I can't lie. I've been bad." t shirt laughed out loud.

However, I got my padded bicycle seat, and it is all good in the cycling hood. I don't know how exactly an ergonomic relief channel provides support, but I'm not complaining.