As I may have mentioned before my boyfriend has a penchant for staring at another man’s lycra clad behind. Last weekend, like many other weekends was rudely interrupted by the pair of them spending Sunday at a cycling event. Do hold your “where’s the harm in that? What an unreasonable girlfriend” until I’ve explained my issue with this. My main concern is not that I don’t get to see him or that I’m concerned by the love of a man’s lycra clad bottom: no I’m more concerned with the fact that this morning I was roused from a rather lovely Saturday night – don’t have to be up in the morinignsnoze. At six. A.m. Yes that’s correct: SIX A.M on a SUNDAY. For those of you that know me well you will understand what this means. I am a snarly, fire breathing dragon when awoken from my beauty sleep. His cycling buddy made the error of saying something about my looking less than impressed to be awake. I believe my mumbled “good morning” (social niceties, pah!) quite possibly came out more like the guttural snarl one would expect from a very.Hacked. Off. animal.
I didn’t run off to my own bed for further slumber though dear readers because what I saw next had to be observed until the bitter end. Two lycra clad men (I think they think they are ninjas/power rangers) both scratching their heads and detaching various parts of bike turning them every which direction and both trying to be the most expert “NO, I’ve done this before you know, I know what I’m doing”. Nothing like a bit of a Chuckle Brothers re-enactment to make loss of sleep bearable: “to me…to you” between the boot and the back seat, I was desperately hoping one would let go and fall flat on their lycra clad behind. Eventually they were off after a good deal of pushing and shoving.
So now, would you like to play guess the number of puncture readers?