I’m getting old and I hate it
My second and most favourite-est hog is going tomorrow.
Any street cred I may have once attained has trickled away with inverse proportion to my advancing age, so I no longer even have to make the feeble attempt to look cool. And that’s part of the problem. Where I once sneered at cold, now I just shiver. And realistically it’s just the wrong bike for getting to work.
This isn’t my own bike of course but it’s a close copy although not nearly as cool.
I’m going to buy a scooter and even after admitting that I’m ancient and about to join the ranks of teens and old men I still can’t bring myself to sully my blog with a photo of it.
Is this what it’s like to get old? Because going to work on the tube when it’s too cold to ride my girly scooter is going to a big come-down – even it it is a little warmer.
I’m trying to come up with a smart line for rejoicing my decrepitude but I can’t.
I think I’m just going to have a little cry.