Me, my bike and saving the world! Pt3
Part 3 – Arriving home to find three beautiful women.
I used to be a teacher. Currently I am sharing a house with a retired teacher friend. My houses have always been quite austere and rarely did I ever have house guests. Comparatively, the house I am currently living in is like Piccadilly station with many people popping round to visit. I am enjoying the difference.
Yesterday I spent the morning volunteering at Community Recycle Cycles, I spend my time there in the workshop helping to strip bicycles that cannot be repaired, salvaging as many parts as possible; of course, the shop has a weekly visit from a scrap metal merchant to pick up all those parts and frames that cannot be reused. Everything possible is recycled! Community Recycle Cycles is a mere three and a half miles away and is perfect to cycle to, especially in this lovely weather. My bicycle is very functional and I like to be able to get out for a few miles every day. Considering the recent disaster on my trip to visit my parents (see previous blog) I need as many miles under my ample belt as I can get. In fairness I think my fitness is improving; well, at least the wheezing is getting slightly quieter!
I arrived home on this hot sunny day at around 1pm. To my delight we had guests. Two teacher friends of my housemate were paying us a visit. All three women turned to regards me as I entered the room; a blonde, a brunette and a redhead. The three all sat demurely with their bright intelligent eyes fixed on me. “Hi” they all said, “Have you had a good morning at the bike shop?”
What man could object to such a wonderful greeting upon his return home? Well me actually! I know I should have bounded into the room glowing from the gentle exercise of a mere three and half mile ride. Slightly pumped perhaps from the exertion, full of vim and vigour and a ready quip on my lips. And, maybe, one day this will be true!
The sad truth is that I hobbled in, I had been exercising quite a lot just recently and many parts of my body ached. Some of those parts I did not know the names of. My face was bright red and awash with sweat; my eyes, due to my elevated blood pressure bulged, frog like. The sweat from the ride was quite obvious and had stained my tee-shirt in big yucky ovals under my arms and had managed to stick the cloth tightly to my vast belly so that it was clearly on display; a figurative and sadly actual “elephant in the room!” I was wearing my cycling shorts and while their design is fabulous for cycling; they are not a great choice for meeting attractive women because it looks like you have an extra bum attached to your ass. It must be said at this point that I try not to draw attention to my posterior as a rule on the grounds that you could land a plane on it! Having a second bum on top of it is not a good look! And it sashays from side to side as I walk. Personally, I always find shorts ideal for displaying my oh-so-white, matchstick-thin legs, “I find that look attractive!” said no woman, ever.
The horror of my own appearance was filtering through my mind slowly and painfully. I looked at the group and they were still looking at me expectantly despite my best attempts to become suddenly invisible. I replayed their greeting again in my head and realised that they had asked me a question. This was a nasty thing to do in a man in my state. Upon seeing them, when I entered the room, I had taken a deep breath in a desperate bid to hold some of my very visible stomach in and now I was obliged to speak; this meant I had to start breathing again! Releasing my breath also released my stomach and my stomach immediately sagged floorwards, moving several agonising inches and wobbled. Whilst at the same time I attempted a polite “Very good morning, thank you for asking.” It should have been easy, I have said such things before without any drama whatsoever. On this occasion, probably because these women were so gloriously attractive, speaking actual words was completely beyond me. What came out was a gasp, splutter, choke combo accompanied by no less that 4 different and distinct nasal whistles, none of which were in tune. After five decades or so of being alive I never knew I could make that noise!
Once I had my breathing back in control and could speak properly I excused myself from their company and went to my room and hid under my bed until they had left.
