i want to ride my bicycle

Finally one day--and the sun was coming up over the rooftops, low and blinding--we decided to escape our dreary existence by fleeing into the streets on our Schwinn. It was a bicycle built for two. She rode up front and I followed, pedaling like mad, flying down the avenue like a bat out of hell or some other furry winged creature—but 'like a flying squirrel from a maple' doesn't conjure the appropriate madness of our wheeled behavior.

We were weary of the grind. Work, drive, eat, sleep. Even falling into love on the occasional sleepless evening was mundane. When carryout from the local pizza joint becomes unexciting because it has turned into standard fare, then life is upside down, and recklessness is in order. Yes, you must stand up and throw your arms above your head. You must scream out gibberish from your open window, regardless of the neighbors. Singing silly songs is a garnish for your Boredom Buster, the figurative sandwich of sustenance.

On the streets we gained our freedom, and we brought nothing to weigh us down. Ahead the road curved wickedly, no problem for adept cyclists, but for rusty weekend warriors on an ungainly contraption it proved too much, and down we went. She yelled brakes, I called out turn, and two cooks in the kitchen will sometimes burn the toast. So down we went, mere blocks from our humble abode, into the soft green divider, freshly mown and dewy yet for the morning sun had not begun to dry our little patch of Earth.

Is that enough violence for one day, she inquired while picking tiny blades of wet grass from her skin. The entirety of our left sides had sprouted green fur, but we came out unscathed for the most part.

Indeed, I replied, and we hauled up our torture equipment and escorted it back the way we came, slow and halting with the telling stumble of bruised thighs and supreme ineptitude. Tomorrow we shall conquer the Alps, while roaring Wagner and waving swords. All will flee from our glorious wrath and we will gain the summit.

And monkeys will fly out of our butts. Pizza and Parcheesi it is.