Don't blame me. The sexy girlfriend who hopped on the uptown E within a squeaker hairsbreadth of the "stand clear of the closing doors" was everything I have dreamt about: vintage wool jacket with leather darts and big-ass skull-kickin' buckle, velvet cuffs, steampunk black boots. And ooo la la. A folded-up scooter on a strap flung over one shoulder. I began to covet the scooter immediately.
Imagine what a person could do with a scooter that folds up so you can toss it across your back like a two-wheeled samurai sword! I could make it crosstown to the East Village without waiting for the goddammed L train. I could scooter to East 42nd at rush hour without squishing tushies. OMG, I could roll over to the Union Square green market with a bungie cord and lash groceries to the scooter. It would surely happen if I only had a scooter.
I mentioned the scooter possibility to Tom. Once or twice. I said I wanted a scooter with handbrakes and also a back fender because I saw a kid with a scooter with a back fender and it looks rad because you can put your foot on it.
Despite my extreme subtlty and veiled, almost subliminal, hinting, I was overjoyed and completely taken aback when I opened up a big box on Christmas morning and espied with my wondering eyes A SCOOTER. Tom picked out one with a titanium frame and patented ball bearings. Immediately, I ran outside with my scooter. I scootered up the block, scootered down the block. Then it snowed twenty inches and I have not been able to scooter anyplace except back and forth in front of the sofa. I seethe with disgruntlement.
Tomorrow, I intend to kick off some outdoor scootering. I have practiced folding and unfolding the scooter using the ergonomic locking pin so I do not embarrass myself in front of Cafe Grumpy, a priority scooter destination. I have not practiced avoiding foot slaves on the sidewalk or hopping curbs. I will rely on my roller skating core wheelsmanship skillz. Hopefully I will live to see the sundown.