Gramma
Dave and I went riding with the club on Saturday. Just as we were firing up the bikes, a friend called wanting to join us. He just had to brush his teeth and put on his socks, fifteen minutes tops. We ended up a half hour late because of Dawdles, and that was beating ass when he finally showed up.
The guys had their club meeting in a park chalet while the girls sat outside on a picnic table. As Dawdles is not a club member, he had to stay outside with the girls. He pulled out a Swisher Sweets cigar. I said, "You're not going to smoke that by me are you? I have the asthma." He lit up anyway. The smoke got the best of me and I had to go get my inhaler.
Meanwhile, Dawdles sat down in my spot. On the way to the chalet steps I said to the girls, "I don't mean to be anti-social, but I can't breathe." A friend came over to BS with me. There was some loud yelling coming from inside, but nothing discernable.
Pretty soon one of the younger guys came tearing out, yelling to his wife, "Are you ready to go?" as he started the bike. He had been disrespectful to the older guys, calling them pussies for not doing his bidding. Dave told him what for and he left.
Dawdles doesn't know how to group ride. He lags a quarter mile behind the guy in front of him, so all the other guys are in a whole different time zone. Group riding done properly is staggered and looks like a tight unit of bikes moving as one. I'm not OCD, but it drives me nuts when people don't get this. I told Dave later that if Dawdles called to go riding with us again, it would just be the two of them.
It was beautiful riding on the back roads. I was proud of myself for only drinking two beers at the bar stops. The diet is paying off. But not today. It's raining and I have eaten two dough gobs (pastry), half a bag of chocolate chips and an ice cream bar. Dave is bringing home pizza. The fireplace is going and I would like to be binge watching Netflix.
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