It Was Bound To Happen. I Have Become Paul Reubens.



As anyone entering unfamiliar territory knows, you have to OBSERVE to BLEND.
So though I lived all my life in an East End Toronto neighbourhood, I processed the behaviours of my new West End Toronto neighbourhood to get hep.
Three seasons in, I realize I will have to flirt with one or both of the following :
An interest in jogging (unlikely to achieve)
A jaunty bicycle and a sundress (more likely to achieve).

Having read somewhere that picturesque gardens, pleasant neighbourly small talk and a yen for organic produce is generally the monstrous sociopath guise of choice, I decided I needed a bicycle. To like, fit in and stuff.

But hot damn if it ain't a trial to find a 5-speed cruiser of pleasing appearance in June.

Months and curses later, Craigslist served it up to me: a red bike, contoured like a Greek God (if they were bicycle shaped), with 5 speeds and a mushy seat for my bummish parts.
Granted, it's a Tim Horton's 40th anniversary bike, won through Roll Up the Rim to Win. But I think we remember how fond I am of Roll Up the Rim to Win, so the minus is actually a plus. And I've never been good with math anyway.

It rides like a wing chair on wheels. I barely feel massive clefts in the road. I am followed by a perpetual rendition of 'Sunshine and Lollipops'. My heart is filled with summer glee. More importantly though, the act of mere ownership will help me survive the night - my neighbours content that I have surrendered to the Annex in earnest.

But now I have an issue. My new velo smacks of THE BIKE from Pee Wee's big adventure.
Take a look. It really, really does.
So now the question remains: do I find the requisite tiger headed horn? The banana seat? Dear God - the streamers? Do I tempt neighbourly disdain (even bloodlust?) and throw myself to the mercy of Large Marge?