mismatched pyjamas
taped American Idol
Popeye's chicken strips
22 February 2007
04 February 2007
two-wheel tease
Ok, so Match.com hasn't found me the love of my life after two months of online exposure. But perhaps I've stumbled onto the latest thing, better than "toothing" or any other social fad: flirting on scooters.
Late one night last week, I had a frigging cold ride-on-the-scooter home. So cold, in fact, that I had a bulky scarf wrapped 'round my neck, its tails stuffed down the front of my leather jacket so my torso was puffed out even more than usual; I also had donned my waterproof/windbreaker pants over my jeans. It was cold enough, given the added wind chill, that I knew my fingers, thighs, and toes were going to be frigid by the time I got home. All I wanted was to get home and into my fleece pants and wool slippers ASAP.
As I drove down Oak Street, cursing at the unnecessarily red light I had managed to avoid, and pounding my cold thighs with my fists to keep warm, I became aware of another two-wheeler approaching me from between two lanes of cars. I was already at the intersection, towards the left of my middle lane, so it was not unexpected for another motorcyclist/scooter-rider to join me at the head of the line of traffic. What was unexpected, however, was that this guy, on a fancy Scarabeo scooter larger than mine, turned his head to me, lifted his helmet's visor, and smiled. I assumed this was just a friendly two-wheeler-to-two-wheeler gesture, like a little hand-wave that isn't uncommon amongst cycle commuters, so I returned the salute with a nod and a little wave of my throttle hand. He responded by lowering his visor, giving his engine a little rev, and nodding to me. At that point, the light changed, and I assumed he'd just hot-dog it and gun his scooter with an obviously larger engine to zoom ahead of me. Instead, as we proceeded down Oak, he switched into the next lane, but kept pace with me, making a point to stop even to where I had stopped, and lift his visor again to look at me!
Now, I was hardly Christie Brinkley in a red convertible. Neither was I dressed in a biker-babe black leather jumpsuit with red flames embroidered on my calves and arms. But we flirted all the way down Oak, flitting towards and away from each other like butterflies. We never tried to speak to each other, and at the end of Oak I turned up the hill towards home, and he turned right to cross Market, giving me a little beep-beep as he left. The rest of the ride home, I puzzled over this odd behavior; I'd heard of truckers leapfrogging on the highways late at night to keep each other awake, but this seemed completely different. Was it flirting? It certainly wasn't terribly safe, given the general inattentiveness of the four-wheel drivers surrounding us. Ah, the dangers of modern mating.
Late one night last week, I had a frigging cold ride-on-the-scooter home. So cold, in fact, that I had a bulky scarf wrapped 'round my neck, its tails stuffed down the front of my leather jacket so my torso was puffed out even more than usual; I also had donned my waterproof/windbreaker pants over my jeans. It was cold enough, given the added wind chill, that I knew my fingers, thighs, and toes were going to be frigid by the time I got home. All I wanted was to get home and into my fleece pants and wool slippers ASAP.
As I drove down Oak Street, cursing at the unnecessarily red light I had managed to avoid, and pounding my cold thighs with my fists to keep warm, I became aware of another two-wheeler approaching me from between two lanes of cars. I was already at the intersection, towards the left of my middle lane, so it was not unexpected for another motorcyclist/scooter-rider to join me at the head of the line of traffic. What was unexpected, however, was that this guy, on a fancy Scarabeo scooter larger than mine, turned his head to me, lifted his helmet's visor, and smiled. I assumed this was just a friendly two-wheeler-to-two-wheeler gesture, like a little hand-wave that isn't uncommon amongst cycle commuters, so I returned the salute with a nod and a little wave of my throttle hand. He responded by lowering his visor, giving his engine a little rev, and nodding to me. At that point, the light changed, and I assumed he'd just hot-dog it and gun his scooter with an obviously larger engine to zoom ahead of me. Instead, as we proceeded down Oak, he switched into the next lane, but kept pace with me, making a point to stop even to where I had stopped, and lift his visor again to look at me!
Now, I was hardly Christie Brinkley in a red convertible. Neither was I dressed in a biker-babe black leather jumpsuit with red flames embroidered on my calves and arms. But we flirted all the way down Oak, flitting towards and away from each other like butterflies. We never tried to speak to each other, and at the end of Oak I turned up the hill towards home, and he turned right to cross Market, giving me a little beep-beep as he left. The rest of the ride home, I puzzled over this odd behavior; I'd heard of truckers leapfrogging on the highways late at night to keep each other awake, but this seemed completely different. Was it flirting? It certainly wasn't terribly safe, given the general inattentiveness of the four-wheel drivers surrounding us. Ah, the dangers of modern mating.
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