pink is a color that stirs a slight reservation in me. perhaps a childhood of pink explosion has led to an adulthood of pink moderation. occasionally, i do have my moments of pink joy. my bike is a beloved friend of mine. she is fast. she is daring. she knows the streets of nyc well and guides me through their chaotic maze with comfortable ease. i never leave her outside overnight and when i do have to lock her up, i give a reassuring squeeze to her handlebars and tell her not to let anyone fuck with her, promising i will be right back. when we’re not out tackling the traffic and potholes, she hangs out in my kitchen.
this morning at the market, i was choosing new flowers for my house and spotted some adorable, tiny, pink mums. i love chrysanthemums. the repetition of their petals is so alluring to me. they’re sexy, those petals. anyway, i saw the pink mums and thought of my bike. so i decided to bring her home a bouquet. after all, my bike totally deserves to be courted and flowers to prove my adoration seemed like the perfect expression of smitten pink joy.