Spinster

So, there’s this bike store pretty close to my house. I’ve lived here for going on two years, and I’d never been in it until a few weeks ago, when I got the bicycle itch and had to scratch it. Actually, I was going in to see if they sold used bikes, but I ended up getting sucked into a cute boy vortex, and walked out with a brand-new bike. I like to think of myself as sensible, but clearly I’m not. Just show me a bunch of sweaty, scruffy, 20-something males and I’ll just hand over my debit card, no questions asked. But seriously, every single one of the boys who works there is adorable. It’s sick. It’s, like, designed to trap susceptible young women.

Anyway, I was told to bring my bike back after a couple weeks so that they could tighten the cables. In the meantime, I’ve put fenders and a bike basket on the bike. Myself. And by myself, I mean that I put on the front fender and made my dad help me with the back one. I’m an independent woman, damn it. (But I did put the basket on myself.)

So, I walked into the store today with my bike. The first guy I saw, I explained to him why I was there. You know how sometimes, people — and I find that this is usually girls, but whatever — will give you the once over? They’ll look you up and down, from head to toe, to determine whether or not you’re worthy of their time. (I’m usually not found worthy, but that’s neither here nor there.) Well, this guy was giving my bike the once-over. He said, “Uh, did we put that basket on your bike?” I said no, that I had done it myself. He sort of looked at me with this knowing smirk and said, “Oh. Well, that’s totally the wrong basket for that kind of bike. You have suspension forks, so the distance between the handlebars and the wheel is constantly changing, and the basket rods are going to warp.” It made perfect sense once he’d explained it to me, but really, I never would’ve thought of that on my own. He went to go get someone to check out the cables, and as he did, the guy who’d been sitting at the counter turned around.

He’s the guy who originally sold me the bike, the one who led me into the boy vortex, and I said hi. He said hi back, glanced at my bike, and said, “Oh. Uh, did we put that basket on your bike?”

Strike two. They’re never going to love me, are they?