J
My wife and I need to exercise more. Every time we leave the house we
notice vultures circling overhead in anticipation and now our washing
machine is doing that nasty thing where it shrinks our clothes. So, in
a moment of pure inspiration and absolutely no intelligent thought
whatsoever, we decide to take up mountain biking. We could remember
biking as kids and there was nothing to it. We set out to purchase our
bikes with the fond memory of a cool breeze gently blowing in our
faces.
One of the first things we notice is that the seats are too small.
Apparently they are now making the seats smaller than in our youth.
The clerk smiles knowingly and smugly suggests that for the more
mature biking enthusiasts they can attach foam padding. There is, of
course, an extra charge. My wife chooses the extra padding and is
currently riding around on what looks like a bucket seat from a 1967
Buick. I, on the other hand, have decided to save the additional
expense and go without the padding. My proctologist has assured me
that the tingling in my left buttock should eventually fade away.
Early Saturday morning we prepare for our first cycling adventure. We
decide to leave early to insure we'll be back before dark. My wife is
to travel in front and carry a ***** pack with suntan lotion, a first
aid kit and our medical insurance cards. Her job is to set the pace.
My job is to follow behind and criticize. I'll be carrying a backpack
filled with: peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (for subsistence),
energy bars (for endurance), 2 jugs of Gatorade (to replenish our
bodily fluids), rain gear (in case of inclement weather), a map and
compass (in case we get lost), a flashlight (in case we're lost at
night), and signal flares (to assist the search party).
We go over the route one final time. I spread the map out on the
kitchen table, pointer in hand. "This is the route we'll be taking, so
pay close attention. If you have any questions, now is the time to
ask."
I carefully review the emergency procedures. "If separated, we will
rendezvous either here, at check-point Charlie, or here, at check-
point Romeo."
"We've been over this four times already," my wife complains,
obviously taking the whole adventure much too lightly and showing no
respect for my superior training and experience. After all, I was the
one who spent nearly two full years in the Cub Scouts, not her.
Fortunately, I understand the seriousness of the task ahead and have
taken the
http://www.dontplayplay.com/html/Humor/20060929/25440.html
notice vultures circling overhead in anticipation and now our washing
machine is doing that nasty thing where it shrinks our clothes. So, in
a moment of pure inspiration and absolutely no intelligent thought
whatsoever, we decide to take up mountain biking. We could remember
biking as kids and there was nothing to it. We set out to purchase our
bikes with the fond memory of a cool breeze gently blowing in our
faces.
One of the first things we notice is that the seats are too small.
Apparently they are now making the seats smaller than in our youth.
The clerk smiles knowingly and smugly suggests that for the more
mature biking enthusiasts they can attach foam padding. There is, of
course, an extra charge. My wife chooses the extra padding and is
currently riding around on what looks like a bucket seat from a 1967
Buick. I, on the other hand, have decided to save the additional
expense and go without the padding. My proctologist has assured me
that the tingling in my left buttock should eventually fade away.
Early Saturday morning we prepare for our first cycling adventure. We
decide to leave early to insure we'll be back before dark. My wife is
to travel in front and carry a ***** pack with suntan lotion, a first
aid kit and our medical insurance cards. Her job is to set the pace.
My job is to follow behind and criticize. I'll be carrying a backpack
filled with: peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (for subsistence),
energy bars (for endurance), 2 jugs of Gatorade (to replenish our
bodily fluids), rain gear (in case of inclement weather), a map and
compass (in case we get lost), a flashlight (in case we're lost at
night), and signal flares (to assist the search party).
We go over the route one final time. I spread the map out on the
kitchen table, pointer in hand. "This is the route we'll be taking, so
pay close attention. If you have any questions, now is the time to
ask."
I carefully review the emergency procedures. "If separated, we will
rendezvous either here, at check-point Charlie, or here, at check-
point Romeo."
"We've been over this four times already," my wife complains,
obviously taking the whole adventure much too lightly and showing no
respect for my superior training and experience. After all, I was the
one who spent nearly two full years in the Cub Scouts, not her.
Fortunately, I understand the seriousness of the task ahead and have
taken the
http://www.dontplayplay.com/html/Humor/20060929/25440.html
