Vroom vroom

This past Saturday was simultaneously and at the same time a great and miserable day for me. Saturday was the day I learned how to ride a motorcycle (yay!) in weather comparable to the storm at the end of Karate Kid II (boo!).

I'm still thinking about it on a Thursday because after six hours soaking wet in black leather gloves last Saturday, today my hands still look like they are attached to the wrong body. It looks sort of like I got a manicure on opposite day*, where instead of cleaning up your hands, nails and cuticles and making them look healthy and pleasing to the eye and touch, I had a team of small Korean women rubbing inky blackness deep into every line on my hands and extra deep around my nails. They were totally talking about me in Korean while they did it, too. I hate when they do that.

I don't think it is optimal for one’s introduction to riding a motorcycle to be in three inches of standing water, but the upside is that if I ever need to ride a motorcycle through a kiddie pool, I will have much more control over which children I decide to hit.


*which usually fell on Thursdays where I was growing up, but I'm not sure if that was true everywhere.